The Non-Adventures Of Casanova
A while ago, around the same time I was shovelling dirt on the coffin lid marked "Fatman Having A Relationship", Kire the security guard at the bar tells me that a young blonde girl was asking about me. 'Yeah, she's been coming around every few weeks now.'
What the Hell? What have I been doing while young blonde girls have been lining up at the bar just to see me? Experimenting with intoxicated monkeys that's what.
I ask Amy the day bartender if she knows who this mystery woman is. 'I know who you're talking about. She had her 21st here a few months ago. The one wearing the green dress. She's not the only one you know. There are a few others who drop in to see where you are.'
'What are they like? Lobotomy scars? Police hot on their tails?'
'Not all of them.'
Hm. It seems that while I spend my lonely nights at home masturbating to Veronica Mars episodes a succession of girls have been chasing me. 'You are soooooo oblivious,' continues Amy,' I've seen girls throw themselves at you but you never notice them.'
I guess I'm a bit like the coyote in the Road Runner cartoons. It's the chase that interests me. Armed with all sorts of crazy devices (that will ultimately malfunction when I need 'em the most) I chase this elusive pray across the country. But what happens when the bird suddenly stops running? How do I react then?
The guy with a girth defect,
Horny Female Patron: I shaved my pussy for you.
Me: You gave your cat a haircut?