Friday, 28 August 2009
03:46:50 AM (GMT)
I have really been trying hard to become the extrovert that I used to be.
That statement is what I use as my excuse for going to the bar on a Tuesday night.
Well, that and coupled with the fact that I embrace my alcoholism. Too much blood in
my alcohol stream is detrimental to my health. I get dizzy, shit my pants and wake up
in a gutter naked, if I don't satisfy my thirst. It happens almost every time.
My roommate, who is equally as crazy, accompanied me in my exploits. He is my
wingman. He is Goose. I am Maverick. However, we will not be ejecting and he will not
bump his head and die. GOOSE!
Annapolis bars can be hit or miss, as the masses are fickle. We began the night at a
sparsely populated bar at about 9:30. The scene was just beat. I looked around and
realized that there were about 25 swinging weiners, to about 3 gineys. Mine and
Goose's chances were looking slim. Let's take a moment to classify the three women in
Women A = Navy slut. Nothing gets this girl hotter than a couple of squids in
uniform. Midshipmen need not touch her special areas to get her wet; she is
instantaneously wet upon basking in the pompous arrogance that goes along with their
uniform. She carries her STD's like little infectious badges of honor and courage. I
would not have sex with her, using someone else's penis, nor would I have the
Women B = Trendy old lady, not aware of her age. A man's mid-life crisis is bad
enough, but a woman stitched together and cosmetically enhanced with collagen and
silicone is not attractive to me. She looks as though she is perpetually making a
funny face. Ladies, save your money. Maintain your bodies if you deem fit, but do not
drop your kid's college funds on liposuction, lips and tits. You're not fooling
anyone. You're most likely going to be more attractive without that constant look of
surprise and befuddlement.
Women C = Trendy old man's daughter. Talking to this girl is just as awkward as the
first time that you got caught jerking off at work whilst flipping through pages of a
dated Reader's Digest. That's what I have heard anyway. The minute that you move in
for the kill, Daddy is right there to deflect your efforts. He wants your penis
nowhere near his daughter, and who can blame him? As soon as I meet a girl's father,
the little happy song starts in my head. "I fucked your daughter; I fucked your
Moving on to bar number two and not a moment too soon. We walk in the door and my
chick-dar was picking up hotness at my 12 o'clock. The live entertainment consisted
of two very sexy young women. Goose was ever-vigilant, as well. They were playing
guitar and harmonizing so well, that I was mesmerized by their demon song. The fact
that they were both cute was amplified by the fact that they could sing. After peeing
my pants in ecstasy, I gravitated towards them, while Goose made the more prudent
decision to urinate in the facilities that are designated for such activities.
The blonde, whom shall now be referred to as Gorgeous, was the focus of my desire.
Oh, how my heart (loins) yearn for a woman that can sing and look absolutely stunning
doing so. Goose returned from the restroom and I explained to him in laymen's terms
my desire for Gorgeous. I wanted to put my peener in her bajiner. Basically, I wanted
to fuck her brains out.
He looked over the harpy's play-lists. At which time he made a comment that angered
me to the core of my blackened evil heart. Goose saw the way that the two were
looking at each other and with powers of deduction, along with several Melissa
Ethridge and Ani DiFranco selections in their song list; he came to the conclusion
that the two were lesbians.
How saddened I would be, should this be true, is what I had thought.
I watched helplessly trapped, as a stereotypical "Women A" was being manually
stimulated by a midshipman while dancing. They then lost balance, fell and toppled
over an amplifier, along with Gorgeous and company's tip bucket. At which time,
Gorgeous decided that it was time for an intermission. This was my chance to prove
Goose wrong and possibly get laid in the process. The gods had smiled upon me.
Gorgeous had taken a seat at a table away from the commotion. I moved in and
introduced myself. Chemistry was certainly there and it was only moments before I had
her laughing. Gorgeous had a smile that could end wars and cure cancer. Ten minutes
flew by, and her associate made her way back to the table. I was now overcome with
optimism. Two words: Three. Some.
A polite interjection had interrupted my dirty mind. These two are looking at each
other the same way a man and woman look at each other after sexual exploits. Their
eyes flicked back and forth between each other's and only met mine when I spoke.
Defeated. I gave up easily. Goose found joy in my disheartenment.
It only made sense to give up. I put myself in their strap-ons. Would I, a firmly
virile, heterosexual male ever want to switch sides and have sex with a nasty, hairy
man? NO! Would I, if I were a beautiful lesbian...mmmm, lesbians. Would I ever want
to switch sides after experiencing the beauty that is the female form? No, I don't
believe that I would, if I were a lesbian.
I was winded, but I followed through. I gave Gorgeous my cell number. She said that
she would definitely call me next time that she was in town and I believe her. She
was real nice; she wasn't one of those stuck-up, high and mighty twat-loving lesbos
that hate men.
I ordered another Guinness to drown my defeat and watched helplessly as Gorgeous and
associate kissed goodbye passionately, as they parted ways.
I sure can pick 'em. The night ended with me drowning in a pint and pining over a
girl on the other team. Later, I masturbated thinking about the wonderful things that
go on between them in the privacy their own home. God, bouncers get so pissed when
you pleasure yourself in the middle of a crowd of onlookers in their bar.
Written by EatMeCompletely from Uber Site
(As you can see, this was not written by me, but it is one hell of a funny