In those long lost days, when we were young and childless, we often went out to parties together in a kind of gang, and I remember one evening when Martin, Christopher, and my husband and I all arrived?possibly after one or two cocktails?at some upwardly mobile soiree given by Arianna Stassinopoulos (not yet Huffington) in a hideous apartment in one of those white bricked buildings on the Upper East Side. ?Why I can?t quite recall now, but Christopher and Martin took it into their heads to start chanting, ?Fuck pigs frolic in a fountain of jizz.?? I think this catchy phrase might have come from a headline in Screw magazine?hey, you can?t say that those hacks don?t have a way with words?and we all laughed so much, while never letting go of the chant, that we were soon, unsurprisingly, asked to leave. Christ, how silly?and happy?we were.
Source: http://feeds.slate.com/click.phdo?i=18222e174c79fc1ad9171c7f77e97f7d
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