Valentine’s Day Part 1: The Blind Date Game Show

datingFor Valentine’s Day I participated in a blind date game show at a comedy club in which I ask questions to three bachelors hidden behind a curtain and I have to pick one of them for a date based on the answers. But surprise, surprise. All of the bachelors competing for my hand were unacceptable. First one is (legally) retarded, second one has a Bachelor of Science in Douchebaggery with a minor in misogyny studies, and the last one had a GREAT personality- just wonderful.

By the way, it took me more than 10 minutes to figure out the retarded guy was retarded. But he might not be. I am just going to list the facts below and you be the judge of whether he is or not:

  • He has a large necklace like Flava Flav but instead of a clock it has an oversized letter. 
  • He introduces himself and tells me his necklace weights 5 pounds. Walks away.
  • The other comedians think he is retarded. (But none of them is a doctor.)
  • His proficiency in ebonics is noteworthy. He is white, 850 pounds lighter than me, and 12,000 feet shorter than me.
  • Every time he approached me (no less than 5x) he addressed me by my name. (I’m always impressed by anyone that can remember the names of people they just met.)
  • During the show the says hi to his friends in the audience. They look like they just got out of jail for doing something stupid, like selling meth on Etsy.

After the show someone had the fantastic idea to ditch the comedy club and head to a nightclub in downtown Seattle, no more than 20 minutes away. By then I had beer, whiskey, fruity crap, and holy water in my system. Basically: I am down to rob a 7-eleven or feed the homeless, I dongiveafack.

Before I leave I ask the waiter for a shot.
Me: “any kind, I trust you man”.
He brings me a Kamikaze.
Me: “I thought you were legit, man”
Him: “It’s good, it’s extra strong”
Me: “If it was it would be called Little Boy”
Him: “I don’t get it.”
Me: (to myself) “I don’t expect you to”

I take the shot and just as suspected it tastes like sprite without effervescence.

Me: “Since you don’t have “Little Boy”, I’ll take a Jack Daniels, same thing”

My designated driver, Jake,  is one of the comedians that performed that evening. He drives a windowless rape van with a software company logo on its side. I know it’s bullshit because he told me earlier what he does for a living and it has nothing to do with computers. I start laughing hysterically. You can’t rape the willing so I jump in.

Up until two months ago I lived in Las Vegas, this is my first time going to a nightclub in Seattle. I shouldn’t have assumed it was a joke when Jake said “this place is a ghetto meat-slapping festival” (as if there is an upscale version of that) because that is exactly what this place was. Fights break out in every establishment, but it takes a certain type of dump to have their dancers and bartenders partake on it. When your  immature drunk patrons are the ones settling disputes between your staff members, you know you run a gigantic shithole.

After the longest 37 minutes of my life Jake and I head out. He takes me back to my car and I am mildly disappointed that the van was just for show.

(to be continued…)

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The fat lady inside of me.

yucky-gluttony

Gluttony Hoe

I love booze and drugs as much as the next asshole, but my greatest love, my undisputedly greatest indulgence is and will always be: food.

There is nothing I won’t eat, at least once. Blood sausages, hooves, worms, day old McDonalds, snails, brains, tongues, etc. (There is a semen joke there, but I will leave that up to you.)

I am not your typical fat girl. For one, I’m not fat. Standing 5’5 tall and weighing 105 pounds, I look like your normal everyday run-of-the-mill bitch, or a very poor fat bitch. Not many people would appreciate at first glance the depths of my love for all things edible. But rest assure, there is a happy fat girl living inside of me.  She is also kind of a slutty bitch, and is not above, maybe one day, using butter as lube.

Food could easily be a deadly weakness for me. My passion for real butter is such that I have eaten half a tub with crackers as if it was cheese. I ate nothing but cherry tomatoes and mozzarella cheese for 2 days, which left me with a beautiful shade of red on my skin and the softest shit I’ve ever taken.

If someone wanted to kill me it would require no more than baking me brownies laced with ricin and leaving them in a basket on my front door. That’s it. I wouldn’t hesitate to eat the shit out of them. I would post a photo of me eating porch brownies on Facebook. I should either invest in a royal food taster, or work as one.