When we talk about the Bovary Boys we need to understand that they treasured nothing more than the taste of cum form a dead man’s sole, bar coke sucked back up the shivers of a bloody nose and the Ramones played at any speed other than that which the good goon Johnny had intended unless, of course, it was a Sunday mourning and then that shit was 33 until the dusk done screamed “HEY HO! LET’S GO!” until jean vests stood for vestments and the only offering to the godless mophead was violence and Bud and soon enough they were the talk of the post-progressive no-wave, no-hows like “How the fuck they doing this madness now that we’re one queen away from winning a federal holiday? Can’t they see we’re on a peace trip? Don’t they know that the average New York American is cool with cocksuckers, muffmunchers and all sorts of temperate butt stuff so long as it’s served with cornichons and lisps and the private excitement of existentialist adolescent yen or aesthetic arrest or whatever, whatever just so long as its other enough to not shake the roof from the shack of progressive appellates?”
And knowing they were known was sometimes good enough for them.
Considerations made their young fucks blush just enough to temper the panther (the called it). Let him sleep just enough to let the moderates get safely to their deluxe city slums before the anarchic Allin skullfuckery took hold and B-C looked less like a wasteland and more like Shiva raining her solemnic savagery down upon the non-believers with a fury that – to this day – no one particularly believes.
But it was.
And some say it is.
And its hard to say whose right and who might just be full of shit because most of the bodies that laid themselves before the indignation of the Boys never made a claim to know what happened.
“Drunk,” they said.
Or nothing. Often nothing. No word nor peep nor scowl to recount what transpired between that one sip cold sip and the taste of heel piss that would follow them (and thereafter ruin their) home except those the Boys carved in their visage right before the body went cold and one last, desperate Christian plea shaved the honesty right away from their beautiful dying.
Jimmy cherished that.
Johnny preferred a less poetic message.