I'm the only straight in the village...
It has slowly begun to dawn on me that I know very few straight chicks. My 'sister' is gay, her friends are gay, my favourite drinking buddy at my pub is gay and her entire household is as well gay. (I like to refer to it as the coven across the road from the pub ^_^)
Not that there is anything wrong with that mind you. Far from it. Lesbians like what I like
And the majority of them are great fun and easy to talk to because basically they're just like pretty guys. (ok that sounded bad) They're guys in girls' bodies (better) so you can talk to them about guy things like sport, sex, music, sex, food, sex and sex. Whereas I tend to have problems communicating with straight girls. For some reason heterosexual women generally don't want to hear about how Southampton won the 1976 FA Cup Final, or can't seem to appreciate the Sex Pistols in the way that I do. In fact most straight women don't even find bodily noises all that amusing, and balk at the idea of comparing lengths and volumes. Bunch of weirdos
Anyway back to my predicament. It's all well and good to go out partying with fellow seafood taco lovers. (If you've never been drinking with a lesbian I highly recommend it. Just make sure you bring a seatbelt so you can strap yourself in and hang on) But when you find yourself at a table surrounded, nay, knee deep in dykes every week then you have a problem.
The problem is that it is near impossible to meet straight girls. There is the possibility that a potential mate may not realise that the female members of your party are all rug munchers and will assume that one of them - or all of them if you are a particularly good looking guy (thankfully I don't have that problem
) - is perhaps your girlfriend. Then again, if it is blatantly obvious that the girls you are with are batting for the other team there is also the possibility that people will think that you are gay as well, as from what I know gays tend to hunt in packs. (Again, I have absolutely nothing against gay guys. Each to their own. Besides most gay guys get a lot more sex in a week than I do in a whole year. Lucky bastards) Both are hindrances to the pigskin bus departing for tuna town.
I found myself saddled with this problem a while back. In order to rectify the situation I stopped hanging out with my sis and her vampiric friends, and ventured out into the world on my own in the search of the endangered heterosexual single female. It was a terrifying expedition, fraught with danger, with the prospect of being rejected in new and humiliating ways if I failed to convince a potential suitor that I was the greatest thing since sliced bread - hard to do with arms as skinny as mine - but I was brave. Eventually my confidence paid off. One day at work a group of young ladies (the aforementioned coven house) came wandering into the bottleshop, obviously lost I thought. For no girl ever sets foot in the Earlwood Hotel for fear of being hit on by a horde of disgusting old Greek men. But they weren't lost, and perhaps the planets were properly aligned because I actually held a conversation with them for more than 2 minutes! Oh happy days! Over the next few weeks I'd see them fairly regularly, greeting them all with hugs and high fives, until one fateful night they invited me out for drinks after work. I was nervous. I was excited. I was crushed when I found out they were all doing each other. Back to square one
Dyke magnetism has a long and proud history in my family. When my dad was studying to become a teacher back in the 70s, two girls came up to him after a lecture and asked if he would like to go out with them to a pub that night. The girls were partners, but back in the 70s attitudes towards homosexuality were a lot less tolerant than they are now. (poor bastards) My dad is a fairly solid sort of bloke, so the two girls said that they would buy my dad drinks all night if he would pretend to be their boyfriend so they wouldn't get hassled. Naturally dad jumped at the chance of free alcohol (another trait that runs in the family hehe) and so said yes, and ended up having a kick arse night out. And though I never knew my grandfather I can only assume that when he emigrated from Malta all by himself it was to seek out a new land, a country where the air was sweet, the grass lush and green, and where hopefully he could meet girls that liked guys. Unfortunately he brought his curse with him. Maybe it goes back even further down the family tree who can tell.
And so I drifted afloat on a sea of testosteronised oestrogen alone under a moon shaped like an axe-wound, a great big glowing gash amongst the stars. And I thought that I would float like this forever, moving from dyke group to dyke group until the end of time. When one of my former female friends suddenly told me that an ex-girlfriend of mine had joined the dark side, and was at that very moment trying to get into her pants. (Gee, thanks for that)
then it hit me.
What if I wasn't just a dyke magnet, but some sort of dyke converter?! Some great and terrible prophet with a bowl-cut sent from the big dyke in the sky to bring about the end of the world, by turning all straight women into raging homosexuals - thus eliminating procreation!! The thought chilled me at first, and I spent several days in my room not daring to come into contact with any girl lest I turn her gay. It all made sense now. The reason my sister had invited me to drink with her friends all those times: they were all hoping I'd get drunk and hit on straight chicks so that I would turn them, thus feeding their dyke armies until they were powerful enough to launch their assault on man, wiping out every creature with a penis on the face of the earth and I would be the cause of it all. The girls at the bottleshop weren't gay when I had met them, my touch had made them so!!!!
Eventually my temporary insanity subsided. I started to enjoy my newfound powers. I began conducting experiments with base metals, thinking that if I could turn them into lesbians then all I would need to do would be to work out how to turn lesbians into gold and I'd have finally cracked the alchemist's code. Alas my research has thus far proved fruitless.
To this day I still wander the earth in search of the endangered heterosexual single female. But I have become patient in my old age and I can wait. Because I know that eventually the planets are going to be properly aligned again, and another group of girls is going to come wandering into the bottleshop. And THIS time, I'll be wearing gloves.
It has slowly begun to dawn on me that I know very few straight chicks. My 'sister' is gay, her friends are gay, my favourite drinking buddy at my pub is gay and her entire household is as well gay. (I like to refer to it as the coven across the road from the pub ^_^)
Not that there is anything wrong with that mind you. Far from it. Lesbians like what I like
And the majority of them are great fun and easy to talk to because basically they're just like pretty guys. (ok that sounded bad) They're guys in girls' bodies (better) so you can talk to them about guy things like sport, sex, music, sex, food, sex and sex. Whereas I tend to have problems communicating with straight girls. For some reason heterosexual women generally don't want to hear about how Southampton won the 1976 FA Cup Final, or can't seem to appreciate the Sex Pistols in the way that I do. In fact most straight women don't even find bodily noises all that amusing, and balk at the idea of comparing lengths and volumes. Bunch of weirdosAnyway back to my predicament. It's all well and good to go out partying with fellow seafood taco lovers. (If you've never been drinking with a lesbian I highly recommend it. Just make sure you bring a seatbelt so you can strap yourself in and hang on) But when you find yourself at a table surrounded, nay, knee deep in dykes every week then you have a problem.
The problem is that it is near impossible to meet straight girls. There is the possibility that a potential mate may not realise that the female members of your party are all rug munchers and will assume that one of them - or all of them if you are a particularly good looking guy (thankfully I don't have that problem
) - is perhaps your girlfriend. Then again, if it is blatantly obvious that the girls you are with are batting for the other team there is also the possibility that people will think that you are gay as well, as from what I know gays tend to hunt in packs. (Again, I have absolutely nothing against gay guys. Each to their own. Besides most gay guys get a lot more sex in a week than I do in a whole year. Lucky bastards) Both are hindrances to the pigskin bus departing for tuna town. I found myself saddled with this problem a while back. In order to rectify the situation I stopped hanging out with my sis and her vampiric friends, and ventured out into the world on my own in the search of the endangered heterosexual single female. It was a terrifying expedition, fraught with danger, with the prospect of being rejected in new and humiliating ways if I failed to convince a potential suitor that I was the greatest thing since sliced bread - hard to do with arms as skinny as mine - but I was brave. Eventually my confidence paid off. One day at work a group of young ladies (the aforementioned coven house) came wandering into the bottleshop, obviously lost I thought. For no girl ever sets foot in the Earlwood Hotel for fear of being hit on by a horde of disgusting old Greek men. But they weren't lost, and perhaps the planets were properly aligned because I actually held a conversation with them for more than 2 minutes! Oh happy days! Over the next few weeks I'd see them fairly regularly, greeting them all with hugs and high fives, until one fateful night they invited me out for drinks after work. I was nervous. I was excited. I was crushed when I found out they were all doing each other. Back to square one
Dyke magnetism has a long and proud history in my family. When my dad was studying to become a teacher back in the 70s, two girls came up to him after a lecture and asked if he would like to go out with them to a pub that night. The girls were partners, but back in the 70s attitudes towards homosexuality were a lot less tolerant than they are now. (poor bastards) My dad is a fairly solid sort of bloke, so the two girls said that they would buy my dad drinks all night if he would pretend to be their boyfriend so they wouldn't get hassled. Naturally dad jumped at the chance of free alcohol (another trait that runs in the family hehe) and so said yes, and ended up having a kick arse night out. And though I never knew my grandfather I can only assume that when he emigrated from Malta all by himself it was to seek out a new land, a country where the air was sweet, the grass lush and green, and where hopefully he could meet girls that liked guys. Unfortunately he brought his curse with him. Maybe it goes back even further down the family tree who can tell.
And so I drifted afloat on a sea of testosteronised oestrogen alone under a moon shaped like an axe-wound, a great big glowing gash amongst the stars. And I thought that I would float like this forever, moving from dyke group to dyke group until the end of time. When one of my former female friends suddenly told me that an ex-girlfriend of mine had joined the dark side, and was at that very moment trying to get into her pants. (Gee, thanks for that)
then it hit me.
What if I wasn't just a dyke magnet, but some sort of dyke converter?! Some great and terrible prophet with a bowl-cut sent from the big dyke in the sky to bring about the end of the world, by turning all straight women into raging homosexuals - thus eliminating procreation!! The thought chilled me at first, and I spent several days in my room not daring to come into contact with any girl lest I turn her gay. It all made sense now. The reason my sister had invited me to drink with her friends all those times: they were all hoping I'd get drunk and hit on straight chicks so that I would turn them, thus feeding their dyke armies until they were powerful enough to launch their assault on man, wiping out every creature with a penis on the face of the earth and I would be the cause of it all. The girls at the bottleshop weren't gay when I had met them, my touch had made them so!!!!
Eventually my temporary insanity subsided. I started to enjoy my newfound powers. I began conducting experiments with base metals, thinking that if I could turn them into lesbians then all I would need to do would be to work out how to turn lesbians into gold and I'd have finally cracked the alchemist's code. Alas my research has thus far proved fruitless.
To this day I still wander the earth in search of the endangered heterosexual single female. But I have become patient in my old age and I can wait. Because I know that eventually the planets are going to be properly aligned again, and another group of girls is going to come wandering into the bottleshop. And THIS time, I'll be wearing gloves.
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