source Joey was what they called a heartbreaker. His grandma told him from a young age. She used to get down on one knee, get a handful of his cheek, squeeze hard, and say, “You are one handsome boy, Joey. You’re a heartbreaker. Be grateful you take after me and not your father. Your father is an ugly pig … your father is a slob … your father …”
http://missionnorman.org/emiios/3888 In Joey’s eyes, his grandmother was grotesque looking, she only had a few crooked teeth that hung from her gums and she had a long nose, with a wart on the tip. She drank cheap wine continually and her breath was stale. Every time he saw her, she would get down on her knee, “You are one handsome boy, Joey … your father is a slob … your father is …”
click here. Binomial Trees. Wiener Processes and Ito’s Lemma. The Black-Scholes-Merton Model. Employee Stock Options. Well that was forty years ago, and now Joey had developed a large gut, pouches beneath his chin, puffy eyes, and he smoked twenty cigarettes per day. His looks were gone. He also drank wine, just like ol granny, but he along with it, he drank vodka, rum, and scotch. He also drank cocktails, port, champagne …
http://www.selectservices.co.uk/?propeler=conto-demo-operazioni-binarie&025=e3 conto demo operazioni binarie It was eight in the evening when there was a knock on his door. Joey had an empty glass in his hand and was staring at the wall. The knock came once more. He got up off the couch, batted away a spluttering of fag ash that had dropped onto his blue shirt and dragged the door violently open. “Yeah” he barked, “You got the right address?”
watch “Hello, Joey,” A hand came toward him. “Joey Salvatorie, I’m from the Guardian newspaper, I’m here to interview you about your your latest movie, remember?”
Joey looked the man up and down. He wore a pale suit, had square glasses, hair combed to one side and was around five feet tall, carrying a bag over his shoulder.
“You fucking sure its today, it doesn’t say shit in my diary.”
“Oh,” was the reply, “Maybe you can check your diary once more. I’m happy to wait.” He grinned.
Joey sighed. “Diary? Who the fuck has a diary nowadays, anyway? Wipe your feet and come in.”
Joey turned, and labored into his front room. He dragged some clothes from a single chair, and pointed to it. “Sit there, I’ll get you a drink. What would you like?”
“I’ll have a soft drink please, coke or anything cold.” The journalist sat down.
“Take a fucking beer kid, Jesus, you’ll make me feel inadequate drinking alone.”
“Okay, thanks, a beer would be great.”
“Atta boy,” said Joey.
Joey walked toward the kitchen, and stopped before entering. He stood there breathing, his bloated body rising and falling like some kind of animal, a bear or something tragic like that. He faced the kid, who was blinking rapidly, trapped in some odd daze. “Remind me of your name, again.”
The kid’s mouth moved, but no words came out.
“Your fucking name, what is your name.” Joey snapped his fingers.
“Matthew … my name is Matthew Anderson.”
Joey grunted, then got two beers from the fridge, snapped the cap off with his teeth and handed one bottle to Matthew. “Here you go, drink up. I have more in the fridge. They expire soon, so drink up.”
“Thanks … Now, if I could begin by asking about your latest movie, Big Heart, Bright Eyes, and Big Jugs. What inspired you to write it?”
Joey sparked up a cigarette, inhaled, and as he exhaled he said, “Fuck kid, is that all want to ask. We could have done this on the phone if I knew you were going to be dull, like the others. What inspired me to write it, um, let me think … how about I needed a paycheck and my agent was on my ass to write something.”
“I see,” Matthew jotted that down. “On your ass …”
“Oh,” said Joey, “You look disappointed. Did you think it had something to do with art?”
“Possibly,” Matthew replied. “Those that have worked with you consider you one of this centuries greatest artists.”
“Oh yeah, like who? Tell me who so I can make sure to never work with them again.”
Matthew giggled nervously.
“Go on, kid, who!”
“Well Joanna Johansson called you the greatest director alive, and she claimed that working under you took her acting to the next level.”
“She certainly worked out under me, that’s for sure,” said Joey taking the final swig of beer. He dropped the bottle to the floor and kicked it away with his bare foot.
“I see,” replied Matthew.
“You want another beer?” asked Joey.
“No thanks, I haven’t finished this one.”
“Drink up, ill get you another.”
Joey returned with three beers. He used his teeth once more to cap all of them and he handed one to Matthew, who quickly finished his previous one. Joey sat down holding two bottles in his hands.
“Atta boy,” encouraged Joey. “Drink up, drink up. You drink like a fucking woman, drink up. What’s wrong with you?”
“So,” said Matthew. “The initial reviews of the movie have been incredible. They say you’re tipped for two Oscars. That must be exciting?”
“Oh,” he said, “Surely it’s every movie makers dream to win an Oscar?”
“I’d prefer to win the lottery. Drink your fucking drink, this is the last time I’m telling you.”
Just then the bedroom door swung open and out walked a young actress that Matthew recognized. He stood up, and went to shake her hand. “Jennifer Frazy,” he gushed, “I recognize you from your movies.”
“Her surname, Frazy,” said Joey “rhymes with crazy.” He chuckled to himself.
Jennifer glided into the room, wearing only a silk dressing gown, and minimal makeup. She was very very attractive. Her legs were long and she was ample sized in the breast department. Matthew looked at her, then away, ashamed that he may come across as leering, or perverse.
Joey watched her, and then unbuckled his belt, his hand sliding down his pants. He belched and finished another beer.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Jennifer. “Joey never told me he was expecting guests.”
“I’m a journalist here to interview Joey about his latest movie, which is causing quite the buzz.”
“You see babe,” said Joey, “I told you that I’m the real fucking deal. You should be grateful that I’m screwing you.”
“Do you have to be so vulgar all the time, Joey?” asked Jennifer.
“Vulgar? I wasn’t so vulgar when I saved you from your last thing with Antonio Regino, the ninety-year-old producer. I wasn’t vulgar then, was I? Then I was a hero, wasn’t I babe?”
“Firstly you never saved me, I chose to leave Antonio. Secondly, must you persist on calling me babe? I have a name.”
“You got a lot more than a name, like a big mouth.”
“Oh, I’m sorry Joey. You don’t like it when people talk back to you, do you?”
“Id prefer it if they talked to somebody else in fact.”
“You’re pathetic,” she hissed, “a horrible, horrible man, and I’m leaving.”
“Again? This is the fifth time you are due to leave. Why don’t you get a move on then I can move another woman in here.”
“Please, as if anyone would want you. Look at you. Your nothing like a man, you’re more like a pig.”
“A pig with a big package.”
Matthew went to interject, but Joey told him, “Sit the fuck down and drink your goddamned beer. When I’m done with her, I’ll finish with you.”
“You despicable human being,” she screamed at Joey.
“You never said such words when I was riding top side last night.”
Jennifer launched at Joey. She clawed his face, pounded on his nose. Blood appeared, running between his lips. She gave it her all, and he just stood there receiving blows. Then he got ahold of her wrists, straightened her out and with one hand, while reaching for the remaining beer bottle. He took a good few swigs then her go. Matthew was up, and moved toward the door, but Jennifer rushed, made it there first, got out, and slammed it behind her.
Joey stood there breathing. Then he looked at Matthew. “What did I tell you? Drink your fucking beer!”
Matthew started chugging at the bottle.
“Now sit down, and ask your fucking questions. I’m going to call Amber Nerd, and move her in. I need some fresh blood in here.”
Matthew took out his pen and started asking more questions …