The Parasite | Eminem

15

"How y'all doing New York?!" Marshall shouts, entering the stage.
I don't even know where we are anymore.
It's too much to keep up with, I've rendered myself useless.
I don't have any information for you.

"Fuck you mother fuckers!" He yells out loudly.

"Bill- Bill Maher..." suddenly he comes to my mind.
I've taken drugs.
I don't usually take drugs.
I'm a mess currently.

"Heh?" Leah asks in confusion, arms crossed over her chest as she looks over the sea of scantily clad teen girls.

"Bill... Bill... Bill"
Bill the 'Politically Incorrect' guy.
I love him.
Everyone hates him, but you know that I don't follow public opinion.

If I weren't on drugs right now... I'd probably be doing something more calculated but I'm high.
I'm high and I want that immediate chaos.
That stupid little hit of intoxication that a pill can't give go you.

"Hey, I know Marshall, I can help you fuck him" I tell a random girl in front of me.

"Marlow?" Leah buds in.

"Excuse me?" The girl scoffs, pressing her hands to her hips.
Her thong is pulled up over her hips.
She can't be more than fifteen.

"What? You just screamed that you wanted to touch his dick." I shrug, almost falling over for a moment before resting an arm on Leah's shoulder.
This is not very feminist of me.
But sometimes you have to recognize that some people are just stupid.
It's not a gendered thing, there are tons of idiots in the world.
Sue me if I'm wrong.

"Mind- Mind your business bitch.... Wait- you actually know him?" She comes around.
I knew she'd come around.

"Yep. I'm Rosenberg, baby. My dad's his managers" I toss my hands out, gesturing to myself.
Look how great I am.
I'm so great.
So great.

"Marlow. Stop. You're acting like an asshole" Leah mumbles, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
She's high too of course, but she does this shit more than me.

"So.. you can like- pull strings?"

"No. I mean, she can, but you're a child so that's illegal. No sex for you. Read uhm. Micheal Foucault... on sexuality. That'll help your dilemma" Leah rambles on to her.
Classic Leah.
Her and her quick sentences.
Like an omelet, full of stuff, scrambled but good.

"Girl-" the Freudian nightmare of a teen girl begins to speak.

"Yes! Foucault!! Thanks Leah. That's who I was thinking about." I stick my pointer finger out into nothingness.
Yes.
My man.

"Who do you think you are? You're the sluttiest bitch here!" Woah. Attitude from the girl fresh out of middle school.

"I'm allowed to be a slut. I'm an adult, and for your information, I'm not even a slut. I'm a homosexual slut. I'm the next Friedrich Nietzsche baby! I'm gonna be the best philosopher of the twenty-first century!"
Ok, now she's reeling, we both have to get the fuck out of here.
I have to hold her back as Leah shoved her pointer finger in the child's face.

"We should go back to the hotel. I'll call Marshall after the show so he isn't confused." I grumble, grabbing at Leah's bulky studded belt.
Freddie Mercury like.
Nice, nice.

"Yeah. Yeah, let's blow this joint."

"Friedrich Nietzsche really? That's disrespectful and you know it. Also, you know what ended up happening to him right?" I jumble out as we shift along the back wall towards the exit.

"What happened?" She asks in a half whine.

"He lost his mind, went insane"

"Oooooohhh nooooo... Friedrich noooo" she cries out, seemingly serious.
Oh boy.