Yo! I be twerking trap girl in a midtown club…

Yo homie!  I be twerking trap girl in a midtown club…

Wait…

Wait…

That be…

That be…

My son!

That not be me.

Yeah, the kid is the multiplyin’ meat man of Manhattan.

I, on the other hand, am the orotund oracle of Otisville.

Meat gets up at 4 am to shine his Bruno Maglis.

I get up at 9 to slip on my fungus ridden flipflops.

Meat sorts through his rack of suits purchased at Barneys.

I slip on a t-shirt with a ‘last night’s pizza remnant’ on the sleeve.

Meat works in a very high pressure environment where every phone call can win or lose millions.

I argue over a nickel increase in jelly donuts prices at the bakery.

Meat chills at the hottest Manhattan club where he zeroes in on trap girl.

I hit Maddy’s diner for the all you can eat meat loaf special with Bobby Murray.  I zero in on the octogenarian waittress.

Meat flops at his lower east side pad at 3am.

I flop.

I am happy for meat. I really am.

I just want to do a tiny reset.

Very tiny.

Just let me…..

image
The kid
image
Trap girl
image
Dad

get trap girl….once.

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