Steve Buscemi

John couldn't believe his eyes. Standing front of him was the Marietta Mangler himself- Steve Buscemi!

"Hey there, big boy." Mr. Pink looked at his crotch hungrily. "I'll bet you got a real nice role under those shorts for me."

John was taken aback. This was Steve Buscemi, sitting on his porch, talking like a sex-obsessed airhead. "Mr. Buscemi? Are you feeling ok?"

Steve giggled and thrust his hairy. flabby chest forward. He was wearing a tight pink shirt with the word "SLUT" written across it in glitter. "I think I feel pretty good, but maybe you want to feel for yourself."

John invited him in and closed the door behind him. Steve sauntered slowly into his living room, swinging his hips wide and looking around. "Ooh, you got a big sofa here... lots of padding!" He slapped his flaccid old man ass through his daisy dukes and grinned mischievously.

His sister would be home any second and John didn't want her to come across this bizarre scene. He wanted Rockhound all to himself! He hurriedly shooed Steve upstairs to his bedroom. Steve was elated when he learned where they were going.

John slammed the door behind him and turned to see Steve sexily trying to take off his shirt. It was really tight, and he had it halfway over his head but was struggling to get it off of his arms. "Oh nooo, I can't seem to get these darn clothes off." His voice was muffled behind the pink fabric. "Mind helping a silly little bimbo get undressed?"

He didn't have to ask twice. John rushed over as Steve fumbled blindly around, knocking over a floor lamp. He grabbed the top of the shirt and yanked. There was a small tearing sound and the shirt came off. Steve's stringy combover was mussed like crazy, and there was glitter in his jowls. He shook his head and tilted it coyly to one side. "That's better, huh?"

John was beside himself. He had Nucky Thompson sitting in his room, shirtless and bimboized, ready to do anything for him! Steve moaned softly, which turned into a wet hacking cough. He sneezed loudly without covering his nose and John felt a soft mist of snot settle on his forearm. His erection swelled, threatening to burst through his cargo shorts.

John didn't know what to do. He'd never dreamed of having an actual celeb in his bedroom, horny and up for anything. Steve took the lead. He wrapped his arms around John and reached for his zipper. With breath smelling of horseradish and mayonnaise, he gently whispered into John's ear.

"I need you to put your wood in my chipper."