A Tale of Two Titties*

The speakers on the back patio at one of my favorite dives was blasting hits of the 90’s.  I was people watching, barely participating in the conversation with the group of girls I had opened.  Inebriation had been reached accordingly, downing one PBR tall can after another.  The girls weren’t very good looking, but due to my b.a.c.  I was quite content.  I was about to light up another stotch, when my friend came stumbling out of the bar. His hackles were raised resembling the way my dog reacts to unknown creatures in the night.

This is a whole different story

This is a whole different story

He sat down and started slurring out a story.  His woes began when he walked up to the bar to get another beer and was positioned right between a cougar and a fat chick.   The cougar took an instant liking to my friend, pawing, being wrinkled and trying to get his attention.  The fatty and cougar were in cahoots.  Like two vultures waiting for the carcass to stop breathing, they circled my friend, feeding him drink after drink.  It was probably around three in all reality.

My friend said he knew he had imbibed a bit too much so he decided bring his head up for a breath of air, reeling against the uncertainty of his balance in response to the impending gravity.  His reprieve was brief for as soon as he wiped the fog off his beer goggles another fatty had him pinned against the wall.  She grabbed his beard and pulled, smiled up at him.  “You’re Irish, you’re cute, I like you.”  The manatee groped at him with her sausage like flippers.  She grabbed his dick.  Fortunately for my friend, she was too short to get her face up to his for some salami flavored face sucking.    Apparently, oompa-loompa grew tired of his drunken master styled deflection and shambled off to other pursuits allowing my friend a hasty escape.

Hey Baby.

That poor bastard was so upset.  I tried to make light of it, saying, well you still got it ol’ chap, but he denied any positives in light of this one, stomach turning fact:  He said when she rubbed his flaccid member, it moved.  He almost hurled his fermented hops right then and there.

The chicks had picked up on the laughable exchange and started to ask him questions.  Was she cute?  Did you like her?  Why are you so upset?  What’s wrong with you?

Choking down a vurp, he muttered, “but she groped me.”

“So what, she liked you, she was just trying to show you some love.  You’re such a hater.”

And with that final remark, my friend did the unspeakable.  He wandered into territory that could have landed him in jail, or worse.  The dastardly terrain he began to trek, similar to Will Navidson discovering the Five and Half minute hallway,  would possibly necessitate him to say things in a similar vein as “Megan’s law requires me to inform you…”

He reached out towards the bimbo berating him for denying the advances of the recently spurned barrel with arms.  The contempt welling up in his glassy eyes was palpable.  I knew where this was going.  In one fell swoop, he reached, grabbed the sweater puppet of that beezy, gave it a squeeze and pulled his defiant claw away.  She squealed with indignation.

“You perverted bastard,  you filthy pig.  How dare you?. You’re a piece of shit, you can’t do that to a girl.”

And on and on.

I still don’t think they understood his point.

*This post was only about one titty.

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2 thoughts on “A Tale of Two Titties*

  1. Pingback: She Said WHAT? : Comment Edition. | Rojobag

  2. Pingback: A Time Where I Reflect on a Year Without Alcohol | Rojo

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