'I bet he'll be still sitting at the bar, looking down smugly into his ale and feeling superior to us mere mortals.'
The guy thrives on publicity.
He doesn't mind stealing the limelight, literally.
'The more bucks, the better.'
I can see Gartland looking into the mirror and practicing his poetry.
'I'm a liar and a thief, I'm a lier and the chief.'
It's inflections.
The way he looks down that long aristocratic nose that can quickly turn into a sneer when he's either been jilted or he's cruising for a crack head ladyboy.
Let's not sugar coat anything.
He wanted my cash.
He'd do anything, say anything, to get a slice of it.
The bigger the slice, the bigger the lie.
A wake-up call, no one leaves calling cards in phone booths.
And since the '90s, Gartland hasn't taught English.
And since the '80s, he hasn't fucked a pussy.
'Now that's a bit harsh.'
Cockroaches don't register harsh, I said, as I hit him hard with my fly squat.
And what did he do?
He wiggled and squirmed his way back to his cockroach cave.
Management had been trying to evict him for ages.
They were sick of the crumbs leading into his door.
'The filthy farang,' said the so-called Nazi management.
They are only Nazis when they are taking from Gartland.
And they are nice when they are giving.
Cockroaches have brains that process the bare minimum.
Eat, shit and fuck.
That's the extent of their brain processor.
