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Jay Gatsby, Come Find me.

It has dawned on me, probably due to the fact that I'm watching the old film right now, that what I'm looking for, in a lazy, spoiled roundabout way, is a Mr. Jay Gatsby.

Or more precisely, Robert Redford in a white suit. But I'll settle for a look-a-like with a nice pair of shoes.

It's an awful movie. Truly, an embarrassingly tepid rendition of Fitzgerald, but I'd throw a suitcase full of Oscars at anything that engages me as much as Mr. Redford in his beautiful shirts.

(I mean goddamn... they just don't MAKE em like that anymore. They just don't and it's a damn shame because they very well SHOULD.)

I'm not a thing like Daisy, Old Sport. Not a thing like her at all. Only because I give blowjobs and Daisy wouldn't. And even if she did, she wouldn't be very good at it, because it's hard work and dedication and an awful lot of spit that really makes you a good woman. And Daisy just doesn't get that.

But you know, if Audrey met Cher, the two had a baby and that baby was raised by both Garey Busey and Keanu Reeves, then you'd have me.

And if that's not good enough for my darling Gatsby, then he can go find a glory hole in Kansas after he kisses my ass....

well, you can probably guess who's going to be on the other side of that glory hole...


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