Plump Fiction Page #2

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surf-and-turf tits

just hangin' out

in the Disney daylight.

Damn!

Yeah.

Apparently in Europe,

seeing a woman's tits

is like an everyday thing.

So she's just sitting up there

waving at the kids.

Families huddle around

taking her picture.

Hair up in a bun?

You better believe it.

Eh, this black motherfucking

hairy-ass n*gger's

gotta get his ass down there,

I'm telling you that right now.

Sh*t!

Look out!

(TREYS SCREECH)

(THUMP!)

You hit something.

Yeah, no sh*t, Sherlock.

Get that f***in' bug

off the hood of my car.

Ugh!

(QUIRKY MUSIC)

Uh-oh. No page numbers.

F***ing bug, huh. We should have

a grenade for this type of sh*t.

Maybe we just spray him

with your Jeri curl.

Say, man, this is real hair, OK'?

Helps a n*gger's hair relax.

You wouldn't know

nothing about that sh*t.

Why don't you relax?

How many of them up there, man?

The whole place

is probably crawling with them.

And only sends two of us'?

Well, you know Monticello.

Damn, we should have a f***in' Uzi.

(DOG BARKS)

WOMAN:
Will you stop that...

Is that the revolutionary

new pesticide you been working on?

Eh, man, that's gonna get this brother

out of this bullshit exterminating suits

into an Armani suit.

I might even end up with a Porsche.

Like most fly n*ggers.

Eh, Julius,

it's a f***in' doughnut.

This is a lethal puff pastry.

Within the walls

of this flaky golden crust

is a Bavarian cream

laced with DDT.

Enough to exterminate

a whole tenement.

Lay one of these suckers

on the kitchen counter,

you wake up the next morning,

it's like f***ing cockroach Jonestown.

Yeah, and kill an entire family.

Huh'?

You can't leave a f***in' poisonous

doughnut laying on the counter.

Somebody's gonna eat it.

Not if you tell them it's poisonous.

WOMAN:
I said, would you shut...

Give me that f***in' doughnut.

...that goddamn dog up?!

We spray once.

Oh, man.

And that's it.

But then they gonna come right back.

Uh-huh, then we'll come back.

That's how we make a living.

No, that's how Monticello makes

a f***in' living.

I don't get paid enough

for this bullshit.

Say, you know what they call

an eclair in New Zealand'?

So, what's her name again?

Mimi.

They say she's plump.

Yeah.

Used to be an exotic dancer.

Monticello likes his women party-size.

Oh, yeah? Not me.

I don't like fat chicks.

Yeah, right.

I don't.

Yeah, OK.

Serious, man.

Yeah, whatever.

Fat, me, no can do.

Uh-huh. Yeah, right.

I'm tellin' you.

Let me tell you something -

200 years ago,

you would've been singing

a different tune, my friend.

Is that so'?

Yes.

A man's prowess was measured

by the size of his wife.

The bigger, the better, OK'?

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