Wednesday, March 29, 2006


It was Chris’s birthday on Saturday so I trekked my sorry-ass to his apartment in Brooklyn and hunkered down with the first of what would eventually be ten, twenty, shnurfurrrty beers. Cheers to ghetto kegs of Rolling Rock. *clink

I become a permanent fixture at the little bar in the kitchen beside the window, which has been dubbed the “Smoking Section,” and begin to converse with random drunk and interesting people.

Laney, a half Irish girl who had dyed her long hair jet black and pinned it into half pigtails that resemble little ears on the top of her head, begins to enlighten me about her former life as a skinhead.

“So…how are you…talking to me? Uh, I’m Asian.”

She proceeds to define what a skinhead actually is to me.

Apparently the majority of skinheads aren’t actually racist.

Halfway into our conversation, her boyfriend bounces over, clearly intoxicated, and declares, “I want to go home! I have to wooooork tomorrow!”

Laney rolls her eyes, “I’m talking to L, here. We can go home later.”

“Bu-bu-but, I have work tomorrow! Come onnnnnnn.”

“Tell him you’ll give him a blowjob if you can stay longer,” I whisper to her.

“I’ll give you a blowjob when we get home,” she tells him.

“Whaaat? I’m goin’ be too drunk to even feeeeel anything by then. Come onnnn.”

I shrug.

She sighs, “Fine, I’ll let you cum in my mouth."

“Deal!” His hand shoots out to shake hers.

Men are such simple creatures.



Anonymous Lolo said...

Oh my, you are certainly older and wiser than your years if you already grasp how powerful a currency the almight beejer is.

I got my boyfriend to quit smoking by bribing him with the BJ but threatened him with "none, ever again" if he relapsed.

It worked and the only thing he wanted to know was whether he "could tell my buddies why I quit".

11:22 AM  

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