No way was he drunk enough to actually do this.
"Think about it," he said. "Some poor fuck out there spends eight hours a day sewing satin into nutsacks for greasy guys to wear under their tear-away clothes." The idea was enough to make him give up on the shot glass and just swig right from the bottle.
"It brings a tear to my eye. Billy Tallent: man of the people. Now get your skinny ass out there, Mr. Proletariat. I've been folding singles all afternoon."
"Come on. I can feel this fucking G-string riding up the crack in my ass. That's not buddies."
Joe's eyes went silvery and his grin got a lot more teeth.
"There is no way I'm gonna let you welsh on this. You go up there and take it all off for every fat housewife and sad little shit-sucking queen in this town... or we take it out in trade."
Billy blinked at him, head soaked in bad whiskey, all his spider senses tingling.
"Your call, Billiam."