Anyway, where did we break off? Ah, yes, the chicks my homey had called were gone, the stop sign lay motionless before my feet, the legal cockblock had veered its ugly head and back to the drawing board it was, so we decided to go to the nearby club.
Upon entering, I immediately spotted this exceptionally cheap devotchka. A few slick moves on the dancefloor and she was wax in my hands.
During the following conversation, we built up some good vibes and I didn’t really mind her not being able to guess my bodyfat although I flexed my rotting intestines really hard while holding up my left sneaker. I also didn’t take her comment about me not being able to lodge a 35 pound axe into a counsellor’s skull with decent form despite all the benching and curling I do amiss. When she started harping on about gay marriage, though, I realized this just wouldn’t work. I gave her a big hug and left her to herself.
On my way to the men’s room, I met this other girl called Al whom I had a nodding acquaintance with from the Village People theme party earlier this year. Al was cute, had well developed inner pecs steeled by myriads of chest flys and this fetish for playing Asheron’s Call. Moreover, she had a very innovative opinion with regard to immortality. Well, she didn’t consider herself immortal per se, it was just that she had seen no evidence of her death yet.
The base was pumping and we moved on to the dancefloor where I initiated the Tubesteak Lightpower Boogie, Jason style. She seemed to thoroughly enjoy the ragdolling she was receiving and the way I gyrated my hips and swung my cutlass literally made her fall to pieces.
I really liked the little minx. I even thought about taking her home with me for a moment but I just couldn’t quite motivate myself to collect all the chunks of her body with the other guests jumping and stomping around. As for the immortality issue, I guess the jury is still out on that one.
I moved to a fragment of the dancefloor that was less slippery and my subsequent breakdance interlude set the floor on fire. Well, actually it was my homey’s left kidney that had exploded due to him persistently refusing to cycle off some exotic steroid called creatine that he had been taking for over 5 months.
At first, a piercing ray of light pervaded the rear side of his Umbros followed by a loud bang. In the twinkling of an eye, his fanny pack had caught fire and the flames were slowly engulfing his whole body. Two posse members and I grabbed some bottles of Jabukovaca from the bar and tried our best to extinguish the fire but to no avail. Rather, the whole dancefloor seemed to be slowly turning into a flaming inferno and I felt a burn second only to a set of concentration curls at the end of biceps day.
Then the sprinklers set in. A few minutes later, only a few puddles of water on the dancefloor and the stench of burnt hair and flesh bore witness of the incident.
The posse gathered at the bar and we had a few shots of cheap Kruskovaca. I was still feeling a little indisposed, though, and needless to say, my hair was a mess. On my way to the restroom, I couldn’t quite shed the feeling that I was being watched. Actually, I had sensed something like this since hopping onto the subway, but as I tend to be a very sensitive person, especially in social situations, I thought it was just my imagination.
After having brought back a fair share of buoyancy to my hairdo, it was time to get to the bottom of the issue. Leaving the men’s room, I didn’t return to the others, but rather decided to wait just around the corner of the corridor leading back to the dancing area. It wasn’t long until I saw a small shadow scurrying along.
The trap snapped shut. There he was, my personal stalker, in his right hand sheets of paper containing meticulously prepared statistics of every single one of my moves since the late afternoon. As my hands slowly closed around his throat, he suddenly started trying to persuade me that he was a carrot. To no avail.
After a few minutes of further negotiations, though, he managed to ransom himself with free admission tickets for me and the posse for the Starlight Express theme party next week at the club and so he scampered off back into the shadows. I distributed the tickets among the posse members and we celebrated the bargain with a few shots of really cheap Dunjevaca.
