I shower, I shave, I polish my tongs to a glamorously sexy shine. Roll up to the chica's house. First impression, not bad, cute blonde. Second impression, jesus my fucking eyes what the fuck is she wearing? A cream colored blouse and a peach pantsuit. Jesus, a fucking pantsuit? Is she interviewing to be a bank teller? This girl, who presumably had the time to reject other choices, is sporting a fucking pantsuit? I'm in a hoodie, jeans, and flip flops. She's in a pantsuit. PANTSUIT, PANTSUIT, PANTSUIT. Weird, if you say it a lot it's like the word loses all meaning. Nothing says hot girl on guy action like a pantsuit.
There are no songs about pantsuits.
Pantsuit smiles and lets me in. Her smile is the horrifying smile of a TV weatherman with a name like Bruce Storm or Roger Thunderhead or Shitbag Windyfuck. Her relatively attractive face turns into the face of a jackal intent on stealing my soul, or perhaps Kirstie Alley upon finding out that her mortal enemy owns an all you can eat restaurant. What sounds like the Three Tenors is playing on the stereo, if indeed the fat tenor didn't eat the other two prompting a name change to something like 'The Fat, Cannibal Tenor' or maybe 'The King of all Tenors the Hard Way' or even "Ask Me About the Other Tenors and I'll Fucking Eat You Too". This date is not going to a ball of sunshine.
A pox on all pantsuits, a curse on the pantsuits, such is the will of god.
Pantsuit is a bit crestfallen to find out that my ride is a gigantic van filled with stuff Maggots would think is cool but boring people don't get, and so we end up taking her euro sport status wagon, which turns out to be a major tactical error on my part. Always leave an escape route. Conversation on the way is a bit stilted. Her questions are clearly aimed at finding out whether or not I will make an suitable life partner who will allow her to reproduce and live in the style to which she'd like to become accustomed. Finally we arrive at a restaurant for which I am severely underdressed.
We've got pantsuits, they're not cool, we've got pantsuits, how 'bout you!
Pantsuit orders something that sounds like 'penis grease' and I am sorta bummed when it just turns out to be wine. For a brief moment I thought maybe things were looking up. Conversation hasn't improved much. She asks where I grew up and other tedious stuff. Bored, I try to talk about cool stuff:
"Hey Pantsuit, did you know that there's this disease called Kuru that people in New Guinea get from eating dead people's brains?"
"Oh, that's disgusting."
"Well, yeah. That's why it kicks so much ass."
"Let's talk about something more pleasant, what do you do for a living?"
"Ummm.... that's kinda hard to explain. What about you?"
"Well I ...". Hoooooooly crap. Pantsuit Powers Activate! This woman has control of time! The next half an hour actually takes well over eighteen hours of normal, non-pantsuit time and is filled with talk of pilates futures hedge funds and her job in holistic interior design arbitrage. I may have that wrong, I can't really remember. I do remember ordering 6x10^18th bourbons. I recall drinking a bunch of them. I recall hate. Einstein's theory of General Relativity will now have to be re-jiggered to take into account the time dilation power of what I call 'The Pantsuit Effect'.
Pantsuit, Pantsuit, Pantsuit!
"...and so that's my career." Great googly-moogly! She's stopped! I recall a distinct Doppler effect as her vocal cords stopped vibrating. "Huh. Ummmm, cool? I gotta pee." Sweet freedom! I resolve to end this monstrosity and so tell her upon my return that I'm not feeling so well and need to go home. Pantsuit appears disappointed, no doubt because she doesn't have the opportunity to sonically lacerate me any more. As we arrive at my car Pantsuit wonders "If you'd like to come in for a nightcap?". A nightcap! Hoooly christ I'm not going in there. This harpy's idea of foreplay is a filibuster. Pantsuit then asks if she can call me sometime. Like hell she can call me sometime. Like I'm going to allow her to use the one appliance she can do maximum damage with. Pantsuit, I'm gone baby.
Mothers, don't let your babies grow up to wear pantsuits
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