1. doo blonde
una pe un mal, alta pe alt mal
prima blonda: ce faci fata
a doua: vreau sa trec pe celalalt mal
prima blonda: dar esti deja pe celalalt mal
2. x: asta e bun de tatuaj
x: pe spate sau pe burta
x: cu gotice
y: pe burta la pizde
y: “bate inainte sa intri”
3. las-o, ba, sa plinga, o sa se pise mai putin
Diana nu ride niciodata.
Diana nu ride niciodata pentru ca Diana este grava si serioasa si are 30 de ani. Diana a fost studenta la Arhitectura si, intr-o zi, prietenul ei si-a taiat venele-n fata ei. Singele a tisnit din el cu presiune si a stropit-o pe ochi. A taiat-o pe coapsa cu cutitul si ea a coborit cite trei trepte odata, plina de singe, pina pe bancheta taxiului. In drumul catre taxi a trimis pe cineva sus: „Vedeti ca s-a taiat ala”. Cind am intrebat-o de ce nu ride niciodata, Diana mi-a zimbit si atunci, fara sa vrea, i-am vazut dintii stricati. Era exact cum ma temusem eu ca ar arata radiografia unor placi pline de scratchuri. Dedic aceasta piesa tuturor celor care mi-ati lipit repede eticheta cu explicit content, era explicit contempt, ba.
5. Nevasta-mea s-a intors cu fata catre mine, si respira in somn asa de usor si de linistit incit mi-a venit s-o iau in brate, s-o string la piept. In schimb, m-am ridicat cu grija din asternut si m-am indreptat catre baie. Am apasat intrerupatorul, am tras apa si, cind sa ies, am vazut ca era deschisa usa camerei in care dormea Viorel, derbedeul. Becul aprins in baie batea pina in camera si, in lumina mica, de 15 vati, am vazut silueta baiatului balanganindu-se spinzurata de lustra. Becul din baie batea in trupul spinzuratului cu sclipirea aroganta a unui diamant de 86 de karate desi el, nefericitul, nu era decit un nestemat de bloc, de 700 de lei kilovatul. M-am apropiat de baiat, sa il dau jos. Se spinzurase cu un cordon de la un halat de-al neveste-mii si se stropise pe pantaloni. Limba ii iesea din gura si trupul continua sa i se balangane, din ce in ce mai lent, pendula despartind timpul in secunde, una tie, una mie, pina cind, ridicind scaunul de pe podea si urcindu-ma pe el, am retezat cordonul ombilical facind timpul sa se opreasca.
6. “Count among us” and “Data: we select, you collect” – that’s what the posters around the city said, advising the people to get involved in the census. As for him, Dan Cannabis had no wish whatsoever to count among them. He had no wish to be counted among his fellow-humans, like the faggots getting their asses plowed in the Opera Park. You don’t need to listen to Eminem to realize that the faggots are rotten to the ass – the hole through which they breathe. It’s enough to go in the Sherlock bar. Sure, the census serves a socio-political purpose of national importance. Sociology teaches us how the data gathered through the population census will be used. Let’s take, for instance, the family institution. Did you know that sociology offers alternatives to the mononuclear family – constitutive of a mother, a father, a child and two TV-sets? In the mononuclear family, Daddy watches one TV-set in his quilted cell, fed up with liquor, while Mommy sits in the other cell, wrapped into the protective membrane of the teleplays and TV shows. Then the TV-sets are turned off and as their bluish glitter fades away the house sinks into silence. That is when Daddy gets up and goes to the kitchen to drink water. He flings the dishes about, throws the spoon on the table and the spoon jumps into a corner, fuck you! Daddy swears. He pulls the chair from under the table and the chair makes a squeaky noise on the grit stone on the kitchen floor. Mommy turns up the volume on the TV, perhaps trying to cover Daddy’s noises in the kitchen and his voice grumping about something and then his steps into the hallway and the kick on the bathroom door. Mommy turns the TV even louder but that will not prevent the Son from hearing the banging and the cracking and he looks at Mommy more scared than surprised: he is no longer that young and dumb as to ask, Mommy, is Daddy angry? Something is making a louder noise in the hallway, maybe the vase on the table fell and broke and Mommy can’t stand the Son’s look anymore and gets out of the cell. “And why would I keep it down, you fucking bitch! ‘Cause you’re stupid, that’s why? I’ve got two fucking morons in my house! Two morons!” Mommy goes back into the cell and takes the Son in her arms, come on, shut the hell up already, my dear, or the whole block is gonna hear us! Then Daddy wants to throw himself out the window and punches the wardrobe doors and bangs his head against the walls. The Son cries and Mommy cries too, yet trying to calm the kid down, ok, it’ll be ok, it’s over, it’s over. Then Daddy spins around in his cell until he gets dizzy and falls down and starts crying too, sobbing and biting his fists and wishing he could bring back the lost time. Oh, father, tell me/ Are you weeping?/ Your face seems wet to touch/ Oh, then I’m sorry father/ I never thought I’d hurt you so much.
7. deci ne-am comportat literar in aceasta seara.