Directed by G.R.
Distributed by Westlake Entertainment, Inc.
It was slow on the dating circuit, just another week full of Guitar Hero II and threats from people who liked Pro-Life. This has become so common that any deviation would be the equivalent of a nuclear bomb on my brain. Then it happened. Some insane warmonger dropped that deadly device. An e-mail popped up in my inbox from some name I didn’t recognized.
Well, this letter was not soliciting sex, penis enlargements, she-male cocaine bukkake parties or the world’s smallest digital camera. It was a correspondence from some girl I must have contacted during my massive cut and paste bonanza during a Match.com 3-day trial. Being a man on the move I couldn’t actually dedicate time to writing out unique e-mails per each easy woman I spotted on that site. So, each one sent out was the same. Half the time I didn’t even read the person’s profile, all you need to do is look at the pictures and worry about the details later. Why not? Does it matter anymore what these people are about? I’ll find that out as I go. That’s the way to do things.
The sender of the response was some cute little minx. She seemed very eager to meet me this same night. Something wasn’t right even though this chick was too little and lacked the proper body augmentation to be a hooker. Maybe she was some mass murderer. I went anyway. I had nothing better to do.
She called my cell and seemed to crack up after every word I said. That is a bad sign. She gave me a big mumbled stew of directions to the rich side of town. It was time to suit up and jump in the great red Cougar. Blast it! I forgot my gun!
I found my way to the apartment complex, but this place was massive. An Intense fear was coming over me. I was lost in rich town, no directions, and no one was answering their phone. Even a desperate call to 911 fell on deaf ears. It turns out that being lost in upper-class suburbia isn’t as important as being raped. Who knew?
I came to a stop by some boats where some sailors were waiting next to a large parking lot just for nautical vessels. “Oh dear god,” I thought, “they are going to have their way with me and I shall become their cabin boy!!!” It happens everyday in the seedy parts of Florida’s West Coast ports. Plump young boys are captured and raised at sea. It’s the lesser of two evils I guess. The unlucky ones get roped into working for the Florida education system.
The sailors were eyeing me up in a very uncomfortable way. One picked up a spear from a ship’s port side and aimed it at me. He was Ahab and I was the great white whale. I hoped my small V6 would be fast enough to outrun these horny sea dogs. With a slight wink from the mistress of fate, an old lady in a bright pink jogging suit fell victim to the spear when it missed my car and planted itself deep into her metal hip.
Savage people were everywhere that day. I finally met up with this girl at the poor man’s Steak & Ale. We got there a half-hour before they closed. “Plenty of time,” I said to the fresh-faced college hostess. ”We’ll be in and out before you know it.” So much for good hope. Service came to a halt when we got there. Uncle Creepy calls me a magnet for horrible restaurant service and today was no different.
The girl I was supposed to meet brought along 3 other people. Fantastic way to meet a person for the first time. Now I was feeling odd. I had nothing in common with these kids. Working as a professional for so many years made me forget how to relate with people who were still in school. I was done with being hip. I just wanted my double shot of Jack and a damn steak.
The conversation between this girl and me was almost nonexistent. She made a number of references to the size of her breasts. They were large, but something about boasting about the caliber of your lactose cannons on a first date isn’t exactly making me any more comfortable. I am all for solid talk about tits and ass but with my friends when we are at the local skin bar. It did not make matters better that every passing comment I made about the female form of sex was greeted by a nasty stare from the potential girlfriend.
No amount of breasts could keep me in this snake pit any longer. I was out. Christ, I had to be up in 6 hours and knew this date was a waste of time. The whisky was over-priced, the steak was worthy of only Denny’s customers and my buzz wore off within a matter of minutes. I was in no mood to tolerate any more of this. This may have worked out OK if the date had not been sprung on me at the last minute like some stalker in the bushes. No time to prep, worn out, and in no condition to entertain anyone besides a tap dancing bum.
Later on the girl told me she was not impressed with me because I wore my hat to the scummy steakhouse. OK, I can take that insult. Let’s not go into what I should have said.
Oh, on a side note … Zombies Gone Wild sucked.
How to make a Zombie drink
1/2 out of 5
2 1/2 out of 5
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