Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Stay Classy

Stay classy – what the fuck is it supposed to mean? I mean seriously, when some fucking numbskull gives you a wink and says, stay classy, kid, how the fuck are you supposed to take it? I guess to really understand the meaning behind something, you have to know what sort of situation it was used in. Then you’d know what it was referencing in the first place – and understand its end meaning.

Are you confused yet?

Well, let me give you a quick rundown on my experience, and it starts and ends with local mobster, Frank Galboni. You see, old Frank gave me a wink and a click of his fingers and said those fucking words – stay classy – all while two of his goons had their pistols embedded in either side of my skull. Did I deserve to be in a position like that? Yeah, maybe. See, only a few short minutes before all this took place, I was one finger deep inside his eighteen-year-old daughter while her twenty-year-old sister blew me off. I was trapped within the perfect storm, and Frank walked in while I was letting loose my seed in her mouth, and that’s how I ended up on my knees – dick out and pistols to the head.

That’s when it all happened. As Frank was walking away, he turned to me, winked, clicked his fingers and said, ‘stay classy, kid.’ Now I’ve got to be honest, those words confused the fuck out of me, because I couldn’t figure out if he was secretly patting me on the back for scoring the way I had with his two daughters or not. Everyone knows Galboni likes to play around on his wife with as many pieces of tail as he can. Not that she complains – she knows what he does but she wants for nothing and can have anyone she desires, whenever she wants. I know it’s true because I’ve been there.

Two nights before all this happened, I turned up because an old pal of mine worked for Galboni and was trying to help me get some work. Anyway, the next thing I know, I’m face deep between her legs, covered in her juices as she’s slobbering over my cock. Galboni didn’t have a problem with me that night – he even gave me a job out of how well I serviced his wife – so why crack the shits over me doing his daughters? But that’s neither here nor there. The worst part is that I knew I should’ve just kept my mouth shut, but I needed to know what he meant by the stay classy remark. It was probably heightened by the fact that I knew his two goons were going to put their bullets into my skull, so I took a quick breath and called out.

“Mister Galboni, can I ask a question before your boys make a mess out of my head?” I called out. Galboni took his hand off the door handle and after a few seconds, he turned around and stared me down.

“What?”

“The stay classy line, I’ve got to ask. Did you mean it as a good thing? Like you did good, kid. I liked the way you scored with those bitches. Or did you mean it in a sarcastic Al Capone, you’re dead sort of way?”

“Seriously, kid, did you just call my baby girls bitches?”

“I know, I know, it shouldn’t be what’s worrying me. I know it should be your boys and their toys that should be my real concern. But fuck me, I can’t get past that stay classy comment. Please, you’ve got to let me know what you meant.”

“Kid, it meant nothing. It’s just a fucking saying, you stupid FUCK!” he yelled as he drove a baseball bat down onto my head. I still don’t ever remember seeing him pick it up, but obviously he must have, from somewhere. Anyway, I felt the first two hits – they hurt like fucking hell – but after that, I felt nothing. As I lay there, not feeling a thing, I couldn’t get that line out of my head, and that’s when it happened. The old fucker keeled over after he brought the tenth swing of the bat down upon my cracked open skull. Seems the godfather had a bad ticker and it just fucking stopped – too much stress, I presume. The poor old fucker fell face down in a puddle of my blood, dead as a doornail. But it was in that moment that I finally understood, and I’ll tell you something, he looked fucking classy all the way.