Stooge: “Don’t you know who this is? It’s A. J., last of the big time spenders.”
Manager: “Leave him take his purple-assed bastard and big time spend some place else.”
A. J. stops in front of another club and looks in. “Elegant fags and old cunts, God damn it! We come to the right place. Avanti, ragazzi!”
He drives a gold stake into the floor and pickets the  baboon. He begins talking in elegant tones, his stooges filling in.
“Fantastic!” t
“Monstrous!”
“Utter heaven!”
A. J. puts a long cigarette holder in his mouth. The holder is made of some obscenely flexible material. It  swings and undulates as if endowed with loathsome reptilian life.
A. J.: “So there I was flat on my stomach at thirty i
thousand feet.”
Several nearby fags raise their heads like animals ‘ scenting danger. A. J. leaps to his feet with an inarticulate snarl.
“You purple-assed cocksucker!” he screams. “I’ll teach ; you to shit on the floor!” He pulls a whip from his umbrella and cuts the baboon across the ass. The baboon screams and tears loose the stake. He leaps on the next table and climbs up an old woman who dies of heart failure on the spot.
A. J.: “Sorry, lady. Discipline you know.”
In a frenzy he whips the baboon from one end of the bar to the other. The baboon, screaming and snarling and shitting with terror, climbs over the clients,