Cue up Highway to the Danger Zone cause we’re about to buzz the tower.
If you’re a male over the age of 13, chances are you’ve probably hit on a girl. It’s also just as likely that you’ve failed miserably at it more than once. Fortunately, since I traffic in dumbassery the way that Pablo Escobar trafficked in cocaine, failure pretty much just rolls off my back. No big deal, there’s plenty more where she came from. Most of the time it’s pretty painful to watch somebody get shutdown, but sometimes God throws somebody under the bus just for the sake of my mirth.
During the course of the gift from the Blog-Gods that was this past weekend, we ventured out to the bar. Not our typical bar, but a different, douchier one. Some friends from out of town were with us, and they wanted to go there. I shouldn’t be allowed to get my way all the time, so I was actually kind of happy with this. I needed a change of pace. There were six of us, so we grabbed a booth in the back and ordered a round of cold adult beverages. One of the girls with us, Rachel, saw a guy at the bar who caught her eye and sidled up there to exploit her good looks for a drink. (Don’t protest, you girls know you do it, and we guys fall for it every time. It’s just the way of things.) Evidently, that tact didn’t work, but thankfully, someone else stepped up to take his place.
Rachel’s a pretty damn attractive young lady. She’s tall, thin, and likes to wear white shorts. Give that girl some aviators and a southern accent and she’d be dangerously close to my dream woman. The guy that bought her a drink though, he didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in Hell. He was probably a good 6 inches shorter than she was (He was obviously not a critical thinker. How are you gonna wallow around with a girl half a foot taller than you?) and decked out in his finest yuppie wear. Lime green button up shirt, (tucked in, of course) khaki shorts that ended 3 inches above the knee, and those God-forsaken boat shoes. I swear, Bass made so many of those things in ’85 they just waited 20 years and started selling them again. I never caught his name, but he reeked of Kennebunkport, so we’ll call him Preston.
Preston had some friends sitting at a table across from us, so he sorta wandered back there after Rachel. Bill (you may remember him from the car wreck story) wasn’t gonna miss this opportunity to put Rachel in an awkward situation so he immediately went up to Preston and told him her name and favorite beer. He goes up to the bar and wanders back with two Sam Adams beers. Somehow in this span of two minutes, he’s managed to forget the most important thing, her name. I don’t know exactly what it was that he called her, but it sure wasn’t Rachel. It was really easy to tell that Rachel wasn’t having any of this, and if I was this guy, I’d just turn right back around and go sit down, but Preston was persistent.
It was also about this time that I got a good look at Preston’s face, and he looked just like freakin’ Jean Claude Van Damme! I pointed this ridiculous fact out to the friend sitting next to me and she concurred, so I started pulling out the references to Bloodsport. So there’s this guy trying his damndest to come up with the right name for Rachel and Jennifer and I are behind him doing slow motion karate moves and yelling, YEEEAAAAH! A la the final fight scene in Bloodsport. (Seriously, watch this clip starting at about 2:00 minutes and you’ll understand).
He stomps and stammers for a couple minutes with us yelling KUM-I-TE in the background until finally Rachel just picks up his beer and starts drinking it. “But that’s my beer,” he says. She says, “I know. I’m just gonna drink it until you remember my name.” The look of utter defeat on his face was priceless. It was seriously like someone had peed on his sand castle until it became one with the ocean. Somebody at our table felt sorry for him and told him her name, but she was so over him at this point, there was no salvaging his dignity. She gave him his quarter of a beer back and said ‘Why don’t you just go sit down now.” He trudged on back to his table to no doubt drown his shame in some over priced libations. Later in the evening I saw him trying to make out with what was either a Hobbit or Hoggle from The Labyrinth. Proving yet again, that trying is the first step to failure.