We were supposed to go to my favorite coffee shop.
I had a poetry reading there a couple weeks ago
and had one of those incredible talks with a really cute girl.
I was hoping to see her tonight, but...
Our friend Paul was up from Portland,
so we needed a spot with women who blow our balls out.
Not a bunch of neo-folk hipsters with a fetish for bumming my camel crushes.
It was apparent that fate that brought me to this club
was something very special in line, because you have never seen so many.
Pseudo-Bohemian losers rattling on about intellectual subjects,
it was obvious they had no real clue about.
For the first half hour,
it was essentially an exercise in lowering myself to pedestrian conversation.
When was the last time you got laid, Nick?
Am I not getting laid?
Right now.
It's not what I mean, dude. You know what I'm saying?
Unless Paul's tugging on your nether beard.
My nether beard, dude?
Are you talking about a snatch?
Do you realize not everybody's got one of those things down here, right?
Actually, maybe the chicks you hook up with.
I will say I appreciate a woman who still has the full dinner salad.
You are the ultimate vegetarian poster boy.
Even your name's for pussy of vegetables.
Dude, do you ever get confused when you go down on a woman?
Like you're looking into a mirror?
It's a vagina.
It's a tiny vagina. It's upside-up.
You'll get it.
But she likes it.
When was the last time you got laid, Paul?
It's tough for me. I have very specific taste in women.
I like Filipino girls.
Obviously.
Massage therapists.
Obviously.
Women with PhDs.
In the social sciences.
Not math.
Just then this woman caught my eye.
She was just...
Damn!
Cherubian.
This chick was banging.
She had the biggest, nicest, roundest eyes I'd ever seen.
She reminded me of a poem I once wrote called
A Soft Winter's Fog
About the peaceful essence of infinity and the way in which a woman is.
Innocent in the essentialist manner of post-structuralist feminine dialectics.
Clearly a woman blessed with genetics of the superior variety
who would prove to be a fine mother for my child.
Hi. What can I get you guys?
I knew I had this big game with this chick
because I knew that she would be down with Nick the Slick.
Alright everybody, bars closed.
I hate to do this to you, but y'all gotta get the fuck out.
Because I just want the night at you over there.
Don't even look at me like you're about to cry.
I don't give a shit.
Because this chick, she is all mine.
Baby, you just got the golden ticket.
Your prize is a cure.
So you guys are looking to party, huh?
Well, I like to party, too.
In fact, if you had a little yay-o on you,
we could all party together, you know what I'm saying?
Hell yeah, baby.
Absolutely.
You touch me again, I will scrote choke you
until it comes out both your eyes, you feel me?
Yes, please.
You get me some of that yak, though.
It's a whole nother story.
The Enchantress described in detail
all the pleasurable ways she would make our cocks dance.
If we'd only retrieve for her a small quantity
of concentrated coca leaf extract,
it seemed far too good to be true.
Is this a removable collar?
This must be bespoke.
But I was utterly hers.
Hi, my name's Joanna.
Joe Licious, if you're nasty.
I wear tight shoes to make me dance,
tight, tight shoes to make me dance,
tight, tight, tight, tight, tight, tight, tight, tight shoes
to dance with you.
You wrote that, didn't you?
It's beautiful.
So, you guys got any on ya?
Yes, yes, I do have that yeyo.
It's in my car, I'll go out and get it.
Actually, I believe that I possessed the aforementioned yeyo.
What is it? It's Friday. Friday's my yeyo night, guys.
I have it.
Well, I guess it's a race to the finish.
Bang!
She was intelligent, as well as beautiful.
We definitely made a connection.
She was so kind and sensitive.
Those assholes didn't notice.
I noticed.
This tick likes to fuck!
I was definitely, definitely going to...
Definitely going to get laid.
I hadn't seen Coke since it kicked me out of Beta House.
As soon as I got my hands in that powder, though,
I was gonna lay pipe so deep in that bunny she'd forget how to say thank you.
Oh, God, yes, it's time to do work, baby!
I soaked in my alien surroundings,
feeling like a newly born cub freshly out of the womb
and covered in placenta.
When I spotted younger patrons who I knew would help me in my quest,
do you know what yeyo is?
Sir, I'm looking for yeyo.
Um, yeyo.
What is up, my manky botches?
Yeah, you look good today. You look even better, damn it.
Let me ask you this.
Are you guys holding it down? Excuse me?
Yeah, are you holding it down, you know?
The fuzzy, brain detergent?
Charlie Sheen sneakers? I can't safely sit too loud.
Looking for yeyo.
Can anyone help me find a yeyo?
Greetings, friend.
Pardon the interruption, but I have urgent need of cocaine.
No.
No, you don't.
Oh, I assure you I do.
What you need, friend, is this.
I call it Blurred.
Of course you do.
It's my own designer formula.
Equal parts Oxycontin, Ritalin and Viagra.
Cooked in an arse-cola reduction and dried in a tiny brass pan
made for poaching quail eggs.
It wasn't coke, but I was positive this Blurrenwood
impressed Joanna even more
and secure me a spot inside her vagine.
I'll take two.
You guys have any debit card?
Skiers Delight, Bob Ross on a good day.
The blueprint, number five, Renee Zellweger.
Tomula Sorda's diet? You know who the hell Tomula Sorda is, that's fine.
You're laughing, you know what I'm talking about.
Okay, I'm sorry to ignore you, but this is important.
Okay, I'm sorry to ignore you, but this is important.
Hey, where are you staying tonight?
I'm not sure yet. Why do you ask?
There is this shelter downtown where I volunteer.
They can really help.
Tell them that Nicky sent you.
Thanks.
I'm not homeless.
Here's a couple of bucks.
There is no shame.
There is no shame.
I'd better test it out myself.
You can't just take it alone.
Or you'll die.
I got this.
Well, maybe I'm looking for that San Francisco tree.
Bible camp for Muslim kids.
You know the silver limousine?
I know you know.
Hey.
Hey.
Do you know what Yeyo is or the yak?
It's yak, bro.
Yak!
Will you please stop running interference and get the fuck out of here, you little pigbucker?
And let me know if you need a tampon for that thing.
I don't have a vagina mouth.
I could tell I was going to start crying.
Nick really hurt my feelings.
So like a wounded here, I've sprinted to the bathroom.
Do you just want some coke?
Okay, I'll be right back.
Score.
You're all mine, Mamacita.
Oh, let me help work out, baby.
Yeah.
White Knight requesting backup.
What did you say?
Dude, I got this.
The learn was amazing.
It was like being a Brussels sprout.
Well, I forgot all about the waitress when a damn light pixie started to advance on me.
There was no way those girls were going in that bathroom without me.
Because I know a co-coach you when I smell one.
Oh, God.
I definitely smelled one.
I tried reciting a silent to calm my nerves,
but I couldn't even get the potameter right.
I was so flustered.
Crest you, old feelings most fickle.
The pixie demon started to attack,
but I unleashed a series of whip strikes,
which can be particularly devastating to the eye and cheek areas.
You have the right to remain silent.
Anything you say can and will be used against you.
These chicks were getting crazy.
I saw Jolishes without a pair of handcuffs,
and I was like, Roya!
Orhorn!
Well, my little fuck buddies.
I began to regain control of my spiraling sense of self.
I began deep breathing meditation.
I started shallow breathing hyperventilation amidst the punishing blows.
Get the fuck out.
I motioned to the bartender to dispatch an emergency medical vehicle to my location.
No!
I lost consciousness.
I achieved consciousness.
Get the fuck out!
Thirty minutes later,
I wake up out on the sidewalk,
covered in my own sick,
and I realize I'm not going to get laid.
Thirty minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom.
I don't see Nick.
I don't see Paul.
I don't have the car keys.
I decide to walk home.
I realize I have no idea where I am at all,
and I'm not going to get laid.
Thirty minutes later,
I wake up in the back of a squad car,
and I finally realize I'm not getting laid.
Oh, you're going to get laid.
Thirty minutes later,
I wake up out on the sidewalk,
covered in my own sick,
and I realize I'm not getting laid.
I don't see it.
I don't see it.
I don't see it.
I don't see it.
I don't see it.
I don't see it.
I don't see it.
I don't see it.
