That’s Not Going to Happen . . .

So, I had forgotten how depressing it is drinking alone, so I dragged myself to a local Irish pub.  When you are drinking alone because no one really wants to hang out with you, its pretty fucking sad.  So, I figured it was time to remind myself of that sad reality.  I was busy drunk texting, annoying the bartenders and reading the Irish newsrags when I started to pay attention to what was happening immediately to me left.

I am an unrepentant people watcher, and I figure that they should just have to deal with mouth-breathing glaring, I mean, at least I’m not grunting while I whack it.  I am considerate that way.  Anyway, on my left was a blind date and a fucking awesome one, well, for me. 

The man was skinny and balding, about as manly as Woody Allen after a having mono.  He spent most of the date mewling and being verbally abused.  He was obviously in heaven.  The woman was tall, with an ever present sneer or the result of a recent stroke on her semi-attractive face.  She was wearing capris, a crime in itself, but forgiven because of the spandex top that featured nipplevision on both screens, yay!  However, even the hi-beams could not distract me from her hat.  First, nothing is stupider than any hat other than a baseball cap and those are for chicks w/o make-up, bald guys and retards.  Second, this was an Inspector Clouseau hat.  What the fuck? 

So, she thinks she’s like awesome and is pontificating on music, world politics and the theory of relativity.  Instead of slapping her ass down hard, this pathetic bastard is eating it up.  Now, she wants resistance and this limpdick is failing every test she is giving.  Poor bastard doesn’t even know it.

Anyway, at the grand finale of this debacle, he whips out his AMEX gold card to pay the $40.00 bar tab and then, he tries a lean in.  He is right in her grill, his mouth even open.  And she says to him, ‘that’s not GOING to happen.”  Why she emphasized the going, I dunno, but it was fun to watch the flame out.

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