"Nothing makes me happier than waking Nancy up early in the morning with a phone call and listening to her speak in that baby voice she only speaks in when she first wakes up. I call her at six in the morning. She picks up the phone and she sounds like she’s still in a dream, one of those dreams where she’s locked herself in the closet with a bottle of Vodka and a dildo the size of the Empire State Building. I ask her what she has planned for the day and she tells me that she plans on going to Central Park and playing soft ball with Mayor Koch and Clyde Frazier and a some other random crypto-fascist imperialist pigs. She complains that they don’t play for money (because they don’t need any) but only for a case of beer and her voice is pouty and even though I’m in Miami having to deal with the complexities and vagaries of how to shoot a chainsaw massacre all I want to do is take her in my arms and hug her and kiss her on the forehead. She speaks in that baby voice of hers and I have the profound desire to strafe the top of her head with noogies. Nancy loves the noogies. I’ve never met a woman who loves getting noogies as much as Nancy, maybe with the exception of Margot Kidder, although Margot’s idea of a noogie is not a gentle rap but a vicious hammer blow with the point of your elbow. After a few minutes of playful chatter Nancy will inevitably light up a cigarette and the voice will disappear. And it's not that I don't want to continue talking to her, because her normal speaking voice is just as pleasant. It's just that it's very hard to hear her over over the whirl and spark of a running chainsaw. Miami is a roiling cesspool. The shit floats and wears flip flops and greasy gold chains. I hope that one day this city gets what it deserves and falls into the sea. Nancy wants to come and visit me but I tell her that South Florida is no place for an angel."
Always loved Dressed to Kill and Blow Out