Hello! Please, do come in! So glad that you made your way to our upstanding establishment. Would this be your first visit to the Palazzo della Pecorina? Yes? Indeed, that is truly splendid. Always thankful for new visitors. Sorry to inform you that we’ve had something of a dip in business since the unfortunately overblown quadruple homicide. But I assure you, you have my word as a gentleman that Marcus Vick won’t be permitted on the premises ever again.
MASERATI! Take this man’s coat, won’t you?
[Overweight woman wearing animal print pasties and a feather boa takes the coat]
Care for a drink? We feature only the finest in Ketel Two and Bud Light Platinum. Nothing for you? Suit yourself. You won’t mind if I partake, will you? Ah yes, the Platinum is exquisite. You can scarcely taste the raccoon semen. It really is quite something.
If you’ll follow me, I will be glad to show you our accommodations. No, no, please do not go in there. We haven’t cleaned up the amniotic fluid yet. I also ask that you forgive the odor. Some of our ladies have oozing sores. Left unchecked, they can become quite pungent. Sadly, for reasons that I would rather not discuss, we aren’t on good terms with the free clinic. That won’t concern your stay, of course.
I will not deceive you. It is true that in recent times that we’ve had to scale back on some of our more extravagant features, but should we reach an understanding, I can provide you with our most elegant suite. It doesn’t contain a bed, but it does boast a minimally soiled sleeper sofa. It was recovered by Denise and Brandee, who imported it from the group home where they used to reside. Thankfully, their hormone replacement therapy had yet to take effect and sap their strength. Breathtaking specimen, those two.
I can tell that you are a man of surpassing taste and refinement, much like myself. Tell me: what is it you desire? You are only to utter it and we will make your fantasy a blissful reality.
Jeff Ireland: Whatever you say, hoss. What you got in the way of a big thick country negress? Guessing that won’t be an issue. By the way, I’m Jeff Ireland, general manager of the Miami Dolphins. Put ‘er there!
Silky: It is best that we do not use full names here.
Ireland: Have it your way. Not my style, though. I’m a man who conducts his business out in the open. Say, you got Dez Bryant’s mom working here?
Silky: Yes. Though, again, we would prefer –
Ireland: Ha ha! That’s great. How’s about you let me show her my cap space, if you follow my drift. Ever since her son got all worked up about being called the son of a whore, I’ve been trying to track her down.
Silky: Carlotta is with another client at the moment. If you care to wait, she can be with you shortly. In the meantime, please enjoy a rubdown from the luscious Oxana. On the house. She only has one arm, but what an arm.
Ireland: Hot damn. I like this operation you’re running here, Mr. Silky. Classy joint. Classy as fuck. You ever been down to Miami?
Silky: What distinguished importer of fine ladies hasn’t?
Ireland: I hear ya. What say we talk business once I finish up? I’d like to see you bring this show to the big city.
Silky: That could be arranged.
Ireland: Good deal. By the way, y’all take check? That’s all I brought. Unless you accept Cleo Lemon jerseys as payment.
Silky: We don’t.
Ireland: Dammit. That’s what Peyton said, too.