How To Talk Fancy

I’ve come a long way since my days as an orphan pickpocket. I’ve grown and matured into a fine young gentleman. Yes, a lot of my riches were aquired from things I stole, or the people I stabbed. But there’s more to my lavish life style than just material objects. I had to learn how to talk like a sophisticate. To articulate myself in a snobbish, yet poetic way, to impress my pretentious friends. I did that mainly by adding the word “enthusiast” to everything that I enjoy. It made my lowbrow or borderline stupid interests sound amazing. You can try it on your own time though, because I don’t want to hear it right now. This is about me, and I’ll cut you a red smile from ear to ear if you interrupt me! I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. You can take the boy off the streets, but you can’t take the streetrat out of the boy. Where were we? Oh yes, enthusiast…

1. Wine enthusiast– My mom drank the stuff constantly when I was in the womb. So you could say I started drinking at an early age. Think of the umbilical cord as a beer bong connected to your stomach. Except instead of beer it was cheap boxed wine. I don’t blame her though, because I would’ve been drinking it regardless. It’s cheap, tastes great, and you get a ton. So many flavors too. My favorite is the Sangria. Drink a box of that, and you’ll wake up outside everytime. Guaranteed. I guess you could say my mom loved it to death.

2. Saxophone enthusiast– I don’t understand why so many songs lack saxophones these days. A good solo can spice up the mood, get the party started, or even incite a revolution. Saxophones were the only thing that kept me going after my mom passed. I was living in Murder Alley at the time, and they came as a sweet relief. Either from street musicians or from blasting radios in apartments above me. When I wasn’t witnessing murders, I was fighting to survive. I fought cats, giant rats, and vagabonds on a daily basis. If it wasn’t for the saxophone solo in Billy Ocean’s “Caribbean Queen,” I’d probably still be there.

3. Train enthusiast– I did a lot of freighthopping, or “riding the rails,” during my teen years. As long as you didn’t get caught by the railroad police, you got yourself a free ride. My only advice would be to keep to yourself, and always carry a blade. Those hobos are a lonely bunch if you catch my drift. They just want to be loved like everybody else, but sometimes they aren’t very patient about it. Luckily I had my training on the streets, and only had to kill two men over the four years. Plus the great thing about a moving train, is when you a throw a dead body off something moving that fast, you’re long gone by the time they find it. If the vultures leave anything behind that is.

4. Art enthusiast– Once I moved onto stealing bigger and better things, art was one of them. I partook in a lot of heists during that time of my life. Friday night we’d do a museum, then Saturday hit a mansion. No big deal really. That’s where I made most of my fortune, dealing in the art black market. People always ask how I know so much about art. But to tell you the truth, it’s just so I know how much I can sell them for. But don’t worry, I’m not completely void of appreciation. I kept all the naked lady paintings for myself.

5. Exercise enthusiast– Every weekend I hold “invite only” cage matches in an underground bunker, beneath my mansion. This is another way I make my money. I take a house percentage for hosting the fights. But it’s not like that sissy UFC stuff you see on TV. These are death matches. Bare knuckle, with only one rule- There are no rules. If you don’t attempt an eye gouge, fish hook, or groin punch in the first round, you’re disqualified. And disqualified is just another way of saying death by fire ants. So be a man (or woman) and get your licks in. Besides a good cardio workout, you can actually say you know what it’s like to kill a man. Oh and you get stacks of cold hard cash, with complementary blood splatters on them.

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20 thoughts on “How To Talk Fancy

  1. Sounds like your beloved Mother and I would have gotten along well in my college years. And I am so glad you survived Murder Alley days… that sounded pretty intense. I can’t imagine inviting people over and giving directions:

    Where do you live ? What street ?
    -MURDER ALLEY.

    I don’t think I would have visited. Although, if your place is full of nude female art (my room has 2 nude figures, 1 nude painting) then I’d risk it. For sure.

  2. Since I’m Italian, I prefer the term Aficionado. If I were French, Connoisseur.

    A word of advice, because I’m really Sicilian and NOT Italian…

    You might want to keep a bag of lime and a shovel handy on Fight Nights. Just sayin.

  3. You, sir, are hilarious. But that may be because I, too, am a wine enthusiast. I’m enthusing over quite a bit of it right now. Thank you for the (drunken and inappropriately-loud) laugh.

    • No problem! I always like to converse with other enthusiasts. And wine does make everything better. It’s the only way I got through grade school.

  4. WTF is wrong with my computer thing? How is it that I found this post by accident when, as a devout follower, I should’ve been notified promptly by email?! (Did that sound indignant enough to cover for writing a comment 2 days after you posted?)
    I’m a bit of an art enthusiast myself. The tough part about the naked woman art is that back in the olden days, lots of people thought fat chicks, I mean “Rubenesque models”, were all that and a bag of Frankincense. Don’t get me wrong, I love ’em all, but they take up a lot of wall space, if you know what I mean.

  5. I like boxed wine too. I especially like drinking it out of an empty soda can. I’m very handsy with my gestures and if I’m drinking it out of a wine glass, I’m spilling it all over the place. The soda can though keeps me from spilling it and it makes me not look like a drunk.

    • I always try to think of ways to improve my image. To “to class things up” if you will. And drinking already shitty boxed wine, out of an empty soda can, is genius. You sir are a connoisseur

    • I like to think of boxed wine as an actual family member. That way, when you go to the movies, sports games, or church, it’s all okay. If any of the attendees don’t let you in, you say, “What am I supposed to do? Leave the wine in the car? It’s too hot in there!” Only a soulless Nazi would keep you seperated from family.

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