Thursday, May 29, 2008

I don't want to make love up in this club

I don't even know why I'm in this club. I hate clubs. Plus, I've lost my glowsticks and I'm running out of hair gel. HOW CAN I SPIKE MY HAIR WITH WATER!!!! Hair gel is forever, like diamonds. Or herpes. It's a lot easier to lose a diamond than it is to lose herpes. Or so I'm told.

But, regardless, I would like to make some love. To somebody. With a pulse. Hopefully she weighs less than me. I'm clocking in at about 182 lbs. these days, so that's not too tall an order. Maybe I'll take you over to this dive bar. We could make love there, no? Sure we can. Let's go.

Alright, if you aren't into that, can we leave this little entertainment complex to go get it on somewhere? Like, I don't know, in my garage? Or your mouth? Can I make love in your mouth? You can give me road head WITH the top down. How freaky would that be? Adina Howard wouldn't even be down with that.

God damn it. Fine. Walk away. Why do I go to these clubs with all of these gold-digging prudes? You want me to buy you a drink and you won't even take a Bud Light, even though it's on sale? I mean, special? What. The. Fuck. Fine. Fuck off. And don't come back until...whoa, look at that chick. Hold up, I'll be right back.

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