Peanuts by Charles Burkowski: "Good Grief, You Cunts"

Schroeder played the piano and all of the girls loved him. They would sit there for hours and watch him play. Schroeder had a big old cock, too, and the girls loved that just as well. The times Schroeder wasn’t playing one instrument, he was playing the other. He would play the piano all day and screw all night and he got maybe an hour or two of sleep. He came into the bar one afternoon and took a seat next to Charlie.

“You’re looking sort of beat there, baby,” Charlie said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” said Schroeder. “It’s these girls. They’ll kill me one of these days. They just won’t quit, Branaski! Every time I think I might get some sleep, here comes another one, pounding at my door. It’s enough to drive me mad. . . .

“There’s Lucy and Violet. They’re some real pieces of work, Branaski. They don’t get jealous of each other and sometimes one will come over while I’ve still got the other one in the sack! It’s not like Frieda. I think that Frieda would kill me if she ever found another woman over. It’s nothing but trouble, all the time. More trouble than it’s worth, I can tell you that much.”

And Charlie said, “Maybe you should just give it up.”

Schroder laughed and clapped Charlie on the back.

“I could never give up women for the same reason I could never give up the piano, Charlie Branaski: I’m just too damn good.”

Schroder, he was always my favorite Peanut.