April 25th, 2013


(no subject)

"Well I'll take two shots," said Putin to the man and laid a little book on the bar, well lord knows Vladimir he only talks shit and only drinks vodka from the jar; and his hands are raw, and his eyes are cold, and his breath is pure alcohol, and the sound of his voice it never gets old, and he talked and talked and talked through the night, kept sipping his shit till the morning light, tumbled in through the shades and as he started to go, and the man put three bullets in his back.

Well Putin's bleeding crude oil from a hole in his chest, and it's panging on the bedpan dripping through the bedsheets, and all the businessmen are putting pails beneath his wounds, and pawning the oil at the market; well his heart ain't made of nothing but piss and vinegar, and his shoes have trampled more than you would know, and his breath has split open the thermometer on the sill; it's so fucking cold in here since he'd brought in the snow.