An imagined drunken telephone conversation between me and a whore I used to date and for whom I once moved to a new city like a faggot

CHAD dials a phone number.

WHORE: (like a whore) Hello?

CHAD: Are you getting married?

WHORE: What?

CHAD: Who is Nadeer Khan?

WHORE: Chaddy?

CHAD: Chad's dead. Nevermind who this is. This is Nadeer Khan.

WHORE: No it's not.

CHAD: Are you fucking Nadeer Khan right now? Are you guys fucking in his Sebring?

WHORE: Chad, have you been talking to Dave?

CHAD: Dave's dead. Fuck Dave. Or did you already do that? Did you fuck Dave until he died?

WHORE: What?

CHAD: You fucking heard me.

WHORE: Chad, you're not making any sense.

CHAD: Not making any sense like a fox.

WHORE: Chad, stop.

CHAD: Because if you and Nazeem are fucking then I fucking hope he can get it up right away. Because God fucking forbid that one time -- ONE FUCKING TIME -- a guy can't get it up after he'd had a lot to drink and has a lot on his mind. God fucking forbid a guy need ten seconds to work up a good boner before you start yelling at him and texting your fucking friends about how your boyfriend is fucking impotent.

WHORE: Chad, I never --

CHAD: Because it's only called impotence when it's a chronic problem, okay? A guy is impotent when he can never get it up. When it happens one time after a night of drinking bourbon, that's called just fucking nature. What about all those other times when I made it fucking rain orgasms? Where were the text messages to your slut friends those times?

WHORE: Chad, I'm going to hang up.

CHAD: Good, I fucking wish you would. And after that stop calling me, because I'm fucking sick of it. I've fucking moved on. I'm with a white girl now, a fucking hot-ass white girl with a normal fucking name and a normal amount of body hair who listens to normal fucking white people music.

WHORE: Chad, I saw you at the Walkmen concert two months ago. Isn't that white people music?

CHAD: I FUCKING TOLD YOU ABOUT THE WALKMEN! I FUCKING INTRODUCED YOU TO THEM! THE WALKMEN ARE MINE! GIVE ME BACK MY FUCKING WALKMEN!

WHORE: Fine, you can have the Walkmen.

CHAD: Damn right I can. No more Walkmen shows for you. Stay home and fuck Nadeem.

WHORE: Nadeer.

CHAD: Who?

WHORE: His name is Nadeer.

CHAD: Great. Congratulations. Hope you don't ever catch Miguel jerking off in your bed, because God knows that's against the fucking rules.

WHORE: Chad, that was disgusting.

CHAD: YOU WERE ON YOUR PERIOD!

WHORE: I don't want to talk about this. I'm hanging up now.

CHAD: Wait. What about my t-shirt?

WHORE: What t-shirt?

CHAD: MY FUCKING WILCO T-SHIRT, THE ONE YOU STOLE LIKE A FUCKING GYPSY!

WHORE: I'll look for it. Look, I really have to go now.

CHAD: Yeah, well if you find it, swing by my mom's house and drop it off. I'm sure my family has some shit they'd like to say to you. So does my dog.

WHORE: I'll do that.

CHAD: Are you going to wear white at your wedding? Man I sure hope not.

WHORE: It's a Muslim wedding, Chad. I'm going to wear red.

CHAD: Fucking backwards Chinamen. There was one of your kind speaking at Columbia this week. I won't tell you how that went.

WHORE: Goodbye, Chad.

CHAD: Don't forget: t-shirt.

(click)