2006-06-21 - 4:38 p.m.
The military man walked up to us quickly, the alcohol erasing the normal hesitation. "Do you know where I can get some pussy?" he asked. My wife stared back and lost her train of thought. "Excuse me?" "Some pussy, is there any easy ass around here?" he asked desperately.
The man was in his late 40's or early 50's. He told us that he had a long hard flight in from California this morning. He didn't need to mention the adjectives, I've flown before, there is nothing else that a flight can be. His pectoral muscles were abnormally swollen for a man of his age, obviously he had done some work to have his polo shirts make such suggestions to the strange eyes. Each of his exhalations were humidified with a generous amount of alcohol.
"I think you might find some girls at the bar across the street," I answered, hoping this would suffice and that he would wander off in any other direction. "What about this one right here?" he asked. "It's a smaller bar," I answered. "Oh like a bunch of fucking hippies and drugs and stuff, fucking losers," veins on his head were popping out with everything he said. "Um, yeah, I guess so," I replied.
He continued to tell my wife and I how badly he needed to get some pussy tonight.
The man got into his Lexus SUV and peeled out in his quest for pussy.
I Looked down and found a yellow post-it note on the ground, it said: Cat Food, L.P. Gau, it looked to be written with a 0.7 mm Ball-a pen that commits far too much ink to the page, sending the writer back to the store prematurely for more.
I watched the man screech his SUV across the street and then try to parellel park right outside the club. Eventually he succeeded and before walking into the club he got down on his hands and proceeded to do 50-70 pushups. Before walking into the club he yelled "Hooh-ah" or something like this. My wife, the angelic thing, looked at me and laughed and so I reacted accordingly.
