Last weekend, my friend from New York came down to visit Atlanta, and she was all about shooting guns. “I don’t care what else we do, but we have to shoot guns. In a field. Outside. I want to do something I can’t do in New York.” When I said maybe we could go to a museum in addition to shooting guns, she said, “New York has a museum on every corner. Fuck museums!”
So we took her to a field in Middle Georgia, and she got to shoot all the guns she wanted. Then we went to a BBQ joint, and two strip clubs. Even the stripper in a fur stole we nicknamed “Game of Thrones” was wearing rhinestone gun-shaped heels. If she’d been wearing heels shaped like museums, I think my friend would have punched her in the face.
There’s a scene in Cormac McCarthy’s book Blood Meridian where a man gets shot in the thigh with an arrow, and nobody in his gang will help him. “Will none of ye help a man?” he begs, before bleeding out. I get the feeling that if the world had started to end when we were shooting guns, I’d be the member of the gang in the post-apocalyptic Cormac McCarthy world doing the most will-none-of-ye-help-a-man’ing.
“I just wanted to go to the museum!” I’d cry, before bleeding out.
I bet Game of Thrones would do just fine on doomsday. She’s already dressed for the end of the world. She’s the Cormac McCarthy of strippers! Judging by the wad of bills tucked into her garter, she’s doing just fine in our regular non-ending world. Maybe I’m the one who needs to get a fur stole and gun heels. According to my girlfriend, I do have a bubble butt. I’m ready to twerk it!
All I ask is if I get an arrow in the thigh, that one of ye put down the BBQ ribs and help a man.
In theaters June 12.