Lavender Diamond (a.k.a. Warren Beatty): Thank you. Here's my latest written piece, entitled
Me: It's brilliant! I love you! I will never sleep with Jack Nicholson again!
[The romance blossoms; seasons change]
Lavender Diamond: Here's a new piece I've come up with. I'm calling it
Me: Dance Until It's Tomorrow??? What, did Kate Bush burrow into your ass and force you at gunpoint to come up with this crap? Get out of this house! I never want to see you again!
[Many months come and go. Our paths cross once again in the snowy streets of Petrograd.]
Me: I just heard
Lavender Diamond: If you like that one, wait till you hear
Me: Jesus fucking christ on a Q-Tip--did I hear that right?? My Shadow Is A Monday??? You're more pretentious than all of Tori Amos' fictional selves combined! Take your music and serenade me never again!
[After a separation of almost a year, Lavender Diamond and I attempt to reconnect]
Lavender Diamond: I always want to be with you. I've written this quasi-Christian ditty for you entitled
Me: Ugh. It stinks like a pickled jar of Natalie Merchant. I hate you. Drop dead.
[Lavender Diamond dies of Typhus.]