Monday, November 26, 2007


Super model Morgane D. lasted about an hour and a half in the cold, windy woods before heading back to the car. "Do you think I have frostbite?" she asked, obviously concerned that those high priced tootsies may be at risk. I assured her that they would warm up eventually and if not.... I had a knife. I'm sure all the way back to the car she was imagining walking the catwalk with stubs. The only deer she saw were three doe who spooked when she left the car to have a smoke. "Their leeeetle furry white butts were soooo cute." she cooed. Maybe it's just as well I didn't blast one and gut it in front of her. One must be careful not to traumatize the client.
Once back at the shack, my brother Bird and I sat around the woodstove, drinking beer with Morgane, telling hunting stories. Not to be out done, she told us of once having to model some crocodile pants for a haute couture show in Paris. "They made them too big and the show was the next day." Bird and I looked at each other, then he asked her what we were both thinking. "Isn't crocodile kinda rough on the skin?"
"Oh, no. They were very soft on the inside." she said, taking anothe sip of beer. How stupid of us. "The problem was," she continued "they couldn't get them to fit right. They ended up making five pairs. And it takes four baby crocodiles to make one pair. " I envisioned one of those French seamstress matrons with a tape around her neck and bifocals going out behind the Christian Lacroix shop to club another croc for Morgane's pants. "That's 20 babys!" she exclaimed, obviously concerned that so much carnage was necessary to show off that perfect ass.
Bird and I nodded and assured her that those lizards were happy to give their lives for such a good cause. Se la vie.


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home