I don’t mean to quibble, but disco didn’t die so much as get a little too coked up and sloppy on Dom, then stumble off to a dimly-lit nightclub bathroom, where it wildly banged six spindly polyester Lotharios and a biker chick before passing out naked on the floor with a pair of $20 bills and a champagne flute crammed in the coochie.
That’s more humiliation than “death,” technically speaking.
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h/t michele
update: disco emails, “It was two tens. And I wound up with a cool medallion that doubles as a coke spoon. Beyond that, all I remember is the frantic unbuttoning of Pierre Cardin vests and having my toe twice stepped on by a five inch platform heel. And lots of antibiotic ointment — though that came later on.”
I used to think it would be cool to wear a tiny golden fork on a chain around my neck.
I still have mine.
What, the long pinky nail isn’t cool anymore?
Do you remember? McDonalds’ coffee stirrers were actually tiny spoons until they got wise and made little McPaddles instead.
I’m also trying to remember if they had a McSpork-on-a-rope or McLee Press-on Nails but it’s a bit of a blur.
Is that how Lynndie England was conceived?
Because it sounds like Abu Ghraib..a lessy dreary Abu Ghraib…think Abu Ghraib with tank tops, sequins, and dance floor sweat.