Today was tense.
Previously, Mayo had suggested an alternate venue for the chaps/ette to meet- Who the fuck does she think she is!
Shot down and pre-eaten (who can make until 1pm for sustenance anyway!), she slinked into home base, tail between her leg (only one, the other is a prosthetic, and it's not a good idea to mention her tail with the 'anger issues').
Peanut was scoffing some kind of unidentifiable 'wanka' down, oyster sauce indulging him the lubrication for his deep throat. Apple juice was providing a much needed sugar hit, words coherent...not...too...much.
Butter was dining on one rice paper roll and one apple. His diet was a discussion point, so svelt is he. Privately schooled, one would expect him to have adequate nutritional knowledge, and, as he admitted, he puts the 'fist' in sophisticated. When not dining in such extraordinary company he enjoys nuts, activated personally, and the occasional meat and 3 vege.
Jelly was distracted, aloof even. Once pumped, and probed.... for information, it was revealed he aspires to be Centre Manager of the Paramount! Oh to walk the floor, hire and fire, filling the voids of the Paramount with his presence, and, some new tenants. I'm sure we will discuss how to make this dream a reality at a future executive lunch meeting.Do not fear little Jelly, dreams really can come true (if you really believe, and you know the c**ts in head office).
It was revealed that on the classy and assy, Grinder, Butter is also known as the 'Stubby Hubby'. Do ya self a favour young lovers and look him up.
At some point the conversation turned to family... phones came out with family snaps and 'all of a sudden' club members were busy and important and quickly dispersed.
This clip 'nearly' does justice to how I, Mayo feel about the Paramount Club: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hci3QQhMrdE.
You can take the boy out of the Paramount, but you can't take the Paramount out of the boy.
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