You heard me right the first time. Name of batchelor Johnny Cool. Occupation: Big Shot. Occupation at the moment: just having fun. What a party that was - the drinks were loaded and so were the dolls.
I narrowed my eyes and poured a stiff Manhattan. Then I saw... Hotsie. What a dame. A big, bountiful babe in the region of 48-23-38. One hell of a region. She had the hottest lips since Hiroshima: I had to stand back for fear of being burned. Whiskey wow wow. I breathed. She was dressed as before the bed. In that kind of outfit she could get rolled at night... and I don't mean on a crap table.
It's kind of revealing, isn't it? Revealing? It's positively risqué - I like it.
She said: "You're a man with a thousand Gs, right?"
[J:] "A thousand what?" I quipped. "G-men, girls, guns, guts."
[H:] "You're my type."
[J:] "Wrong, baby" I slapped her hard. "I'm a `L' man: strictly liquor, love and laughs."
She stared over my shoulder: "Play it cool, Johnny." Play it what? I flipped. "Listen, I fought my way up from tough East Side New York. Lead-filled saps and sub-machine guns, like this." [gunshots]
She said: "Johnny, this is a deadly game, have a few laughs and go home." I shuddered. Normally I pack a rod in pyjamas - I carry nothing but scars from Normandy beach. I said "Wrong, baby, you can't fool me." She spat playfully. "I'm ahead of you, Johnny." I studied the swell of her enormous boobs and said: "Baby, you're so far ahead it's beautiful."
[H:] "You, you are, you are eccentric, I like that."
[J:] "Electric cheri, bounce off my rocket[?], tout comprende?" We spoke French fluently. Our lips met again and again. "Yeah, yeah yeah" I slobbered. Hotsie said: "You're slobbering all over the seat, kid."
I went home late. Very late. What could I say to my wife? "Darling, I've been beaten up again." Let's face it: she's credulous as hell.
A punk stopped me on the street. He said "Have you got a light Mac?" I said: "No, but I've got a dark brown overcoat."
Madir Mabbott, M. Gallagher & his mate Duncan think this should be:
"She was dressed as Biffo the Bear.
In that kind of outfit she could get rolled at night..."
I've never heard it that way (and we used to play it often and loud at school) and it would be an odd (but by no means unlikely) intrusion of a bit of British culture into an otherwise American cultural parody. Admittedly the pun at the end relies on the British meaning of Mac (Macintosh).