by pinback » Thu May 11, 2006 10:08 pm
pair shaped
"Hehehehehehe." - Peter Griffin.
Now, I will tell you a short story which is that my date for Saturday tells me today she's coming down with a cold, BUT since her immune system is so off-the-charts high, she'll be right as rain come Saturday. Which reminded me of another story.
So, as Bill Cosby once said, I told you that story to tell you this one:
Trask's good buddy, and by relation, my kind-of buddy Mikey, he was never all that great with the ladies. Sweetheart of a guy, nobody could dislike him, but for whatever reason, he just couldn't seem to make it happen with the womenfolk.
One weekend he throws a party at his place. This was about, Jesus, 7, 8 years ago. It is well-attended, and everyone (including myself, from what I can remember) has a hell of a good time.
Turns out Mikey's feeling his oats this particular evening, and manages to actually hit it off with a fetching young lass. They talk the night away. They can hear the bells are ringing joyful and triumphant. And Mikey gets up the stones to ask (in person, not via IM, mind you, because IM had barely been invented) her to go out with him the following weekend.
To all of our great wonder and joy, she accepts.
Way to go, Mikey. Finally, things were turning around for the poor boy.
Mikey, man. Great guy. He deserved it, too, after all the shit he's gone through.
About Wednesday or Thursday of that week, a scant handful of hours before his first date in ages, we get the news that she has suffered an asthma attack in her friend's car and
DIED ON THE FUCKING SPOT.
I'll tell you as long as you'll listen to me about my bad luck with dating.
But that one still, and for always, takes the cake.
I just call out to the gods that my own little filly is able to hold on, just another 48 hours. 50, if things go well.
Let us pray.
[quote]pair shaped[/quote]
"Hehehehehehe." - Peter Griffin.
Now, I will tell you a short story which is that my date for Saturday tells me today she's coming down with a cold, BUT since her immune system is so off-the-charts high, she'll be right as rain come Saturday. Which reminded me of another story.
So, as Bill Cosby once said, I told you that story to tell you this one:
Trask's good buddy, and by relation, my kind-of buddy Mikey, he was never all that great with the ladies. Sweetheart of a guy, nobody could dislike him, but for whatever reason, he just couldn't seem to make it happen with the womenfolk.
One weekend he throws a party at his place. This was about, Jesus, 7, 8 years ago. It is well-attended, and everyone (including myself, from what I can remember) has a hell of a good time.
Turns out Mikey's feeling his oats this particular evening, and manages to actually hit it off with a fetching young lass. They talk the night away. They can hear the bells are ringing joyful and triumphant. And Mikey gets up the stones to ask (in person, not via IM, mind you, because IM had barely been invented) her to go out with him the following weekend.
To all of our great wonder and joy, she accepts.
Way to go, Mikey. Finally, things were turning around for the poor boy.
Mikey, man. Great guy. He deserved it, too, after all the shit he's gone through.
About Wednesday or Thursday of that week, a scant handful of hours before his first date in ages, we get the news that she has suffered an asthma attack in her friend's car and [i]DIED ON THE FUCKING SPOT[/i].
I'll tell you as long as you'll listen to me about my bad luck with dating.
But that one still, and for always, takes the cake.
I just call out to the gods that my own little filly is able to hold on, just another 48 hours. 50, if things go well.
Let us pray.