Sex, Parties and Lies
Sex, there was sex. Parties, all night long. And lies, you know that was Nick, for sure.
It was our EOFY Party. It’s annual. It is when we can all coo about what a great year we had, financially.
I remember, I had Chad by both wrists, over his back, he was completely naked.
Gordon and Owen had some sort of win against the tax man. I think it meant their tax structure held up against ATO scrutiny. “Same shit, different year,” said Gordon.
We danced. The lights were fierce, or was that the drugs.
Mike got all the drugs.
I think it was Mike looking over my shoulder when I had Chad by the wrists. We were having role play. He was a young, hungry intruder and I had caught him in the mink room. I made a citizen’s arrest, and magically his clothes all fell away.
And then Mike was looking over my shoulder; “Very tasty.”
What? You thought the cloak room was private, a place where potentially every person present couldn’t possibly have a potential have a connection.
Well, yes.
“Ah, ah. Ah ha,” said Chad.
“Sorry Mike, you heard the boy say no.”
“Good man,” I said in Chad’s ear. I slapped him on the arse as we got dressed, he got dressed, and we got the hell out of there.
George and Sophie were there, but, of course, they took e’s and dirty danced together.
Nick, of course, was the lies. “Oh yes, perfectly splendid year, financially, thank you very much.”
Too defensive, we all just knew he’d bottomed out in the money stakes, yet again.
“How do you pick all those winning shares?” asked Nick. Slurring, by that stage. If he was going to ask me a financial question.
“You have to study them, live them, breath them, bath in them until you know them intimately.”
“I wasn’t talkin’ about Chad.” Nick has one of those really irritating laughs, when he is pointing it at you like a weapon.
“The share market is a mystery, with which you shouldn’t tamper, without some prior knowledge of it.”
“So, what are you saying? I’m too stupid? Is that what you are saying.”
“Oh, no, no, no quite contraire, you too could become an expert, if, and there is an if, you are prepared to put in all the hours and hours of research that is required to pick those-winning-shares.”
“Surely I can just call up a broker and say put 20K on red.”
Bruno and Murray took something that made them snort like bulls at each other all night. They left late without saying much.
It was our EOFY Party. It’s annual. It is when we can all coo about what a great year we had, financially.
I remember, I had Chad by both wrists, over his back, he was completely naked.
Gordon and Owen had some sort of win against the tax man. I think it meant their tax structure held up against ATO scrutiny. “Same shit, different year,” said Gordon.
We danced. The lights were fierce, or was that the drugs.
Mike got all the drugs.
I think it was Mike looking over my shoulder when I had Chad by the wrists. We were having role play. He was a young, hungry intruder and I had caught him in the mink room. I made a citizen’s arrest, and magically his clothes all fell away.
And then Mike was looking over my shoulder; “Very tasty.”
What? You thought the cloak room was private, a place where potentially every person present couldn’t possibly have a potential have a connection.
Well, yes.
“Ah, ah. Ah ha,” said Chad.
“Sorry Mike, you heard the boy say no.”
“Good man,” I said in Chad’s ear. I slapped him on the arse as we got dressed, he got dressed, and we got the hell out of there.
George and Sophie were there, but, of course, they took e’s and dirty danced together.
Nick, of course, was the lies. “Oh yes, perfectly splendid year, financially, thank you very much.”
Too defensive, we all just knew he’d bottomed out in the money stakes, yet again.
“How do you pick all those winning shares?” asked Nick. Slurring, by that stage. If he was going to ask me a financial question.
“You have to study them, live them, breath them, bath in them until you know them intimately.”
“I wasn’t talkin’ about Chad.” Nick has one of those really irritating laughs, when he is pointing it at you like a weapon.
“The share market is a mystery, with which you shouldn’t tamper, without some prior knowledge of it.”
“So, what are you saying? I’m too stupid? Is that what you are saying.”
“Oh, no, no, no quite contraire, you too could become an expert, if, and there is an if, you are prepared to put in all the hours and hours of research that is required to pick those-winning-shares.”
“Surely I can just call up a broker and say put 20K on red.”
Bruno and Murray took something that made them snort like bulls at each other all night. They left late without saying much.
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