To The Gypsies Fucking Underneath My Carport




Yes, I realize that you need some shelter when it rains. But do you always have to fuck underneath my carport? Is it because I just installed a disco ball for those occasions when my Tupperware parties get seriously out of hand and I have to act quickly before my guests resort to cannibalism? Or perhaps it's because of that shag carpet I installed. Sue me if I like to rub shampoo all over my body and roll around while I sing "The Way We Were" in my best Barbra Streisand voice. So what if I'm a lumberjack? That's okay.

Oh gypsies, how I wish I could trade places with you. You're in your eighties and still doing that love thang underneath a stranger's carport. You wear nothing but argyle socks and a smile that reminds me of Heath Ledger's Joker. So I guess what I want to ask is whether I can join you. I have my argyle socks and shampoo at the ready. Just flash me a signal. Oh you thought I meant for you to literally flash me. Well, whatever works. I'll be down in a second. Just let me grab some oven mitts and Yanni tapes.

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