|
|
| I know that it's easy for you, the reader, to look at those of us who author these updates with a little bit of envy. Surely the life that we lead is much more exciting and glamorous than yours and while that may be true for most of the writers here, I'm a little ashamed to say that that doesn't quite describe mine. I wouldn't go so far as to call myself pathetic but whatever the next notch above pathetic is probably fits.
You see, I don't get out much. When you're chained to your desk -- literally, with handcuffs -- there's not a lot of options for having a social life. I don't think that I am naive in the ways of the world but rather I find that curling up with some mailbags and letters a far more fulfilling evening than venturing out into public. Well, at least that was true until I started wondering what I was missing. Everyone else comes into the office after the weekend with all kinds of wonderful stories to tell and I wanted my share of the action.
It was Friday night and I, Art Dodger, was going out on the town.
But first, I had to tackle the issue of getting free. Using the last of the dish soap that I keep in a drawer for emergency sustenance, I was able to slide out of the handcuffs with only a minimal amount of pain and stretched skin. My second to-do item was to find someone to go out with. My first thought was Randy but after checking the clock, it was past 3pm and he was probably already lying on his desk naked and drooling. He likes injecting animal tranquilizers into his testicles for some unknown reason. He claims it helps him "kick start" the party, whatever that means.
Thankfully, after some minor searching, which mostly involved going into his office, I found J. Truth still hard at work at whatever it is that he does around here that doesn't involve actually writing anything. J. Truth is a black guy and if racial stereotypes have taught me anything, black guys know how to have fun. After some minor convincing and bribe money exchanging hands, J. Truth announced that we were going to "hit the club" and "get our drink on." I told him that sounded great but I practice non-violence so if we could keep the hitting to a minimum, it would be appreciated. He shot me a "shut the fuck up for the next hour" look and we were on our way.
We arrived at a place downtown called "Stripe" which looked to me like a building whose occupants were practicing a really fancy fire drill. There was so many people milling around outside, I partially wondered why we were even going in. Was it safe? What if I inhale some smoke? J. Truth assured me that the building was not on fire and after some haggling with the bouncer, we made our way inside. We bee-lined straight for the bar and by bee-line I mean squeezed past a lot of people who were in the way and refused to move. I brushed up against this extremely beautiful chick and since that was the farthest I had gotten with a girl in years, I figured my night was complete and we could go home. Truth assured me otherwise. I explained to him that I had already "finished" and he shot me another "be quiet" look.
We finally got to the bar and Truth asked me what I wanted to drink. I ordered a strawberry daiquiri but was given a Heineken in return. I gave pause to the idea of protesting but quickly dismissed the thought. J. Truth was the pro here and I should figure that he knows best. The Heineken tasted like a Dutch boy's asshole but I didn't complain. People might start to question how I know what a Dutch boy's asshole tastes like. Besides, if this is what it takes to make me cool, I can stand it. We made our way to the area with the dance floor because I was told that is where the action is. I think I like action.
When we finally found a place to stand, I was amazed at how many women were surrounding us. If I had a rock and I didn't throw like a 6 year old, I could potential toss that rock in any direction and hit someone attractive. It was like I had died and gone to heaven but this isn't Islam and Truth assured me that none of these women were virgins. I explained to Truth that I was a bit nervous about all of this because I didn't know what I was doing. He replied that I was a white guy hanging with a black guy, which instantly made me more popular than any other non-black friend having white guy in the club. If that is truly the case, I wonder why it's not a part of the dress code. Collared shirt? Check. Nice shoes? Check. Black friend? Check. OK, you can go on in. I feel like I was let in on a secret that no one else knows about. Advantage: Art.
I was really liking the music so I started trying to dance. Well, I suppose that "dance" is a bit of a stretch. I was mostly snapping my fingers and trying to bob my head when I thought it appropriate. I was about to get advanced and shuffle my feet some before Truth punched me in the arm and told me to stop embarrassing him. I thought I was just getting down or whatever they call it. "Do you see any women you like?" Truth asked. Yeah, lots of them. Point them out, he said. So I did.
I pointed to Girl 1. "Nah, stay away from her," he said. Why? "She has what we like to call 'blow job knees'. Those caps have been on more carpet than a cable television repair man." I don't know, I guess I thought that would be a good thing but I trust that Truth knows what he is talking about. I mean, his name is Truth after all.
I pointed to Girl 2. "Hell no. She got Frito-Lay tits." What are those? "She got some triangle titties. She looks like she's hiding two Doritos under her shirt. You can do better."
I pointed to Girl 3. Truth just shakes his head. "Man, that bitch got more muffin top than Otis Spunkmeyer."
I pointed to Girl 4. "What the hell is wrong with you man? She got a body like a wine glass." Don't you mean a martini glass? "Hell no, a wine glass as in she drank too much wine and now she looks like shit."
So I pointed to Girl 5. "Awww yeah, now that is what I am talking about. You like her?" I nodded. "Yeah, I can see the way you're eying her. Go up and talk to her." I have no idea what to say. "Here, I an opening line for you to use and the rest is up to you." I was a little taken aback by what Truth told me to say but in Truth I trust so off I went.
It didn't take me much time to cross the club and before I knew it, I was invading her personal space. I accidentally forgot to stop walking and bumped into her. For a second, we locked eyes and I knew it was now or never to strike up a conversation. Using everything I know about women but mostly what Truth told me to say, I took a deep breath and the conversation went a little something like this:
Me: Hey baby, do you know what it feels like to have 7 inches of penis inside you?
Her: No.
Me: Yeah, I wish I could say the same.
Her: W-what?
Me: Well, you know, it was college and my room mate was into experimenting. I wasn't really against it, you know, because you should try everything at least once, right? Of course, I didn't really have a choice either since I was already tied down to the bed but I totally called it off once he put a collar on me and started barking like a dog.
Her: Why are you telling me this?
Me: Well, my friend said that I should try that pick-up line...
Her: And the rest?
Me: Honesty is the best policy?
Her: Get the fuck away from me, creep.
I went back across the club and relayed what happened to Truth. I'm not entirely sure whether it was him throwing his hands in the air, his drink at my feet, or his walking away yelling "YOU'RE IMPOSSIBLE" but I think that I was finally starting to wear thin on him. Unfortunately, without his guidance, I was pretty much a lost cause.
I stayed around the same spot for a while pretending to drink my Heineken in the hopes that he might come back but he never did. Eventually, I made my way out of the club and back to the P.Net Offices. Using the last of the Heineken as lube, I slipped my hand back inside the cuffs and exhaled a sigh of relief. I was back at my desk with my mailbags and letters to keep me company. Sure, I walked away from the club alone tonight but I think that I am richer from the experience. Well, not literally since I spent something like $25 but I think you know what I mean. Maybe if Truth will give me a second chance, there will be a next time. I feel like I have so much to learn. |
| | (1 comments) - Read Comments - Add Comment - Rate This Update |
|
|
A guy walks into a bar and the bartender says, "Hey buddy, you look depressed. What's wrong?"
The guy replied back, "Sometimes it just feels like no one pays any attention to me."
"I know the feeling, buddy. What's your name?"
"P.Net Comments & Ratings System," said the man in reply. "I mean, sure, I was put in place at the request of readers who wanted an easier way to provide feedback to me because apparently writing or replying to an email is simply too much effort. But, you know, it's OK that said people don't use the system."
The bartender replied, "Well, that doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I mean, it seems silly to ask for something that requires a lot of hard work to be put in place and then not use it."
"I know, right? But I'm not here to cast judgment because the bible taught me about cheek turning. I'll be here for them when they decide they want to use it. Maybe it'll be tomorrow. Maybe next year. Maybe never. I suppose that I will never know."
"Well, best of luck to you, pal," said the bartender.
"Thanks. I guess I'll need it, for that is the life of the Pollestad.Net feedback system. Oh, woe is me."
|
|
|
|
