Only The Good, D. Young
Last night was straight up ridiculous. Straight up like a flagpole I'm talking 90 degree angle, kid. After a night of uneventful pizza delivery we went out, my ghoulsh passle of friends and hangers on. Like the bar rat I've come to be I nestled myself into a cozy corner and resumed the delicate work I had started last time.
Five Old Styles later and the plot thickens.
So I'm trying to talk to this girl. She's funny and mean spirited and possesses all the traits a boy would want in a hater. I say to myself I say Ben get up and get this girl's number and I go to do just that, right? Right. But then the Cock Block of all Cock Blocks occurs. A pretty blond girls walks up and I'm all like hey, ma in my head and turns out, yeah, she's my sister.
Five more Old Styles later:
My step-dad got remarried to his girl friend like person (weird to think a parent has those things) and her daughter whose name I didn't grasp knew who I was. I asked, as we had never met, how she knew me? Oh! Well, that's easy, this girl I'm sitting with, the one whose breasts you've been less than subtly checking out? She's my step-daughter. Your step-niece. You went to sunday school together.
What up, Uncle Pervert?
Christ.
So anyway, that whole deal has yet to be sorted. But it will be sorted. I get up to leave the table of Sudden Family and the girl I had intended to chat up half an hour prior is like peace and I'm standing there with my mouth agape. So breakdown's like this: This girl has GOT to think I'm just some douche baggy bar dude. But really I'm just someone's Uncle.
So they leave, my friends leave, everyone leaves and there's me. This gorgeous, gorgeous girl asks me to dance and I do. I lay some really silly Mack shit that doesn't fly with the art school crowd (I've learned my lesson) but the dancing ends as dancing does. I take a step to her friend who immediately does that finger pointing triangle kissy-hook-up motion between the two of us.
Fun Fact: SuperNintendo can barely talk to A girl, let alone TWO best friends who are fiendishly drunk and up to no good girl things.
And thus, I blew that. I even blurted out the whole Sister/Niece/Uncle thing which, in the sobering morning light, was complete genital suicide. It all fell apart, my tuesday night, but there will be time again for that girl, time again for the bloodiest revenge dancing.
But we're warriors, we like it rough. The Lizzies? Can't handle us.
Last night was straight up ridiculous. Straight up like a flagpole I'm talking 90 degree angle, kid. After a night of uneventful pizza delivery we went out, my ghoulsh passle of friends and hangers on. Like the bar rat I've come to be I nestled myself into a cozy corner and resumed the delicate work I had started last time.
Five Old Styles later and the plot thickens.
So I'm trying to talk to this girl. She's funny and mean spirited and possesses all the traits a boy would want in a hater. I say to myself I say Ben get up and get this girl's number and I go to do just that, right? Right. But then the Cock Block of all Cock Blocks occurs. A pretty blond girls walks up and I'm all like hey, ma in my head and turns out, yeah, she's my sister.
Five more Old Styles later:
My step-dad got remarried to his girl friend like person (weird to think a parent has those things) and her daughter whose name I didn't grasp knew who I was. I asked, as we had never met, how she knew me? Oh! Well, that's easy, this girl I'm sitting with, the one whose breasts you've been less than subtly checking out? She's my step-daughter. Your step-niece. You went to sunday school together.
What up, Uncle Pervert?
Christ.
So anyway, that whole deal has yet to be sorted. But it will be sorted. I get up to leave the table of Sudden Family and the girl I had intended to chat up half an hour prior is like peace and I'm standing there with my mouth agape. So breakdown's like this: This girl has GOT to think I'm just some douche baggy bar dude. But really I'm just someone's Uncle.
So they leave, my friends leave, everyone leaves and there's me. This gorgeous, gorgeous girl asks me to dance and I do. I lay some really silly Mack shit that doesn't fly with the art school crowd (I've learned my lesson) but the dancing ends as dancing does. I take a step to her friend who immediately does that finger pointing triangle kissy-hook-up motion between the two of us.
Fun Fact: SuperNintendo can barely talk to A girl, let alone TWO best friends who are fiendishly drunk and up to no good girl things.
And thus, I blew that. I even blurted out the whole Sister/Niece/Uncle thing which, in the sobering morning light, was complete genital suicide. It all fell apart, my tuesday night, but there will be time again for that girl, time again for the bloodiest revenge dancing.
But we're warriors, we like it rough. The Lizzies? Can't handle us.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
If only they could play the Royals every game.