2.24.2005

Tits! There were tits!

In keeping with the TATA theme we've got going here, I thought I'd share a little tale with you folks. A few days ago, Dave (the boyfriend) and I were leaving the Starbucks on Montrose, a man accosted us wanting to examine my track suit (yes, I was wearing a track suit. Here's the story on that: Three years ago, I purchased online a blue Kappa brand soccer warm up set for the Daveinator. It's blue with the Kappa logo (an outline of a man and a woman sitting with their backs together, naked) down the legs and arms. I realize this sounds hideous, and I would have to agree upon further reflection but he wanted and liked it, so that was all that counted. Since he is a skinny little bastard who generally wears a men's medium, I purchased the warmup in that size. Well, Christmas rolls around and he loves the suit, but it's too small for him. The sleeves don't hit his wrists and unless he were into the whole capri pant look, the pants just weren't going to work, either. So, I said, fine, why don't you call the soccer catalog and send it off to be exchanged? He agreed that was the best course of action; he would get a suit that fit him and my $100 purchase would not be for naught. Needless to say, DAVID, CUTE, SWEET DAVID, does NOT return the suit. While rummaging around in his cabinet for tape this week, I found the suit, still in its lovely packaging, ready to be shipped to the motherfuckers in beautiful North Carolina, nestled amongst old Christmas lights, various packing materials, and a supply of 409 large enough to duel and defeat Mr. Clean. Since I've reformed as a person and have let go of the anguish this rejected gift branded upon my soul, and three years is a bit too long to return a warm up suit that the catalog probably doesn't carry anymore, I decided that I would adopt the damn thing as my own, and that's what prompted the exciting tale you'll hear next.)

So we're leaving the Starbucks, heading for the car, when this man, a middle aged black man whose well-groomed appearance concealed his cocaine addiction long enough to catch me off guard, runs over to me, screaming, "DAMN! Woman, lemme see that motherfucking suit! Snap! Girl, is that naked women!? SHIT! I gotsta get me one of those!!!" Now normally, I might be concerned that a man I don't know is stroking my outer thigh emitting squeals of pleasure, but I was so amused and interested with this bizzare behavior that I stood there, motionless. I thought that after said individual expressed his glee at the prospect of owning such a suit (I informed him of how he might get one for himself), he'd LEAVE.

I WAS WRONG.

The man trapped us in the parking lot for TEN MINUTES--he decided that he wanted to give me a rose to reward me for such excellent (obviously couture) wardrobe, and so he went over to his truck to fetch one. I watched him shuffling around his car for a few minutes, motionless, wondering if I should run, try to hide, or offer this man a dollar for his troubles. Just as I decided to bolt, he emerged from his vehicle bearing (rather proudly) AN ENTIRE BOUQUET of roses, from which he plucked one and handed it to me. At that point, he had moved from the thrilling topic of my ensemble to how he got the flowers, which involved a lot of wild flailing and excited squeals, a nose resembling a cross between a cat in heat and a pig rooting for truffles. Apparently, our crack-addicted friend ran a flower tent on Valentine's day, made $7,000, and still had some flowers left over for lovely ladies who wore nice warm up suits. He also had photos of every woman he had graced with a rose, to which he slammed on the trunk of the car next to mine and yelled to Dave, "PEEP SKILLS, DAWG! PEEP SKILLS!" Well, I had NO idea what this meant, but I did indeed know when I saw a pair of giant, saggy, huge-nippled boobies staring back at me from one of the photos. Other photos included skanky women (surprise, surprise) and the dude, all proudly displaying their roses (if not their breasts).

I later found out (from Dave) that the flower man used the term "peep skills" to brag about his "skills" in reeling in women. Now, I'm not sure what kind of two dollar hookers were seduced by this man, but it's clear that he did indeed have some SKILLS and/or some roofies to slip into these women's drinks. The moral of this story, kiddies, is that you should NOT take flowers from crack-addicted, flower wielding pseudo-photographers who like warm up suits with naked people on them. (Now, that might me a small group, but you never know--I bet Fats sees many of this mold in her unit at work, and there's more than enough crack to go around to a whole gaggle of these folk.) Yikes!

Comments:
I thought you were gonna say you stole some of the pictures and you posted them, but you didn't.

What a waste of 3 minutes.
 
You should have broken into your alter ego White Retardo and shown that sucker what was what.
 
So, did he ask to take your picture? Did you bear your taa-taa's? PEEP SKILLS!! Fats, you've got the goods, I hope you gave em up to a crackhead rose dealer because otherwise I will lose all respect for yo ass. Oh, wait. I never had any to begin with. HA!
 
Hey fatty, this is Kam. You need to put me in touch with Dave....I have a bannana hammock shaped like the Concorde and I will not rest until he posts it on the Web without my permission. I need a vehicle for my mansicle...and a blog might be just the thing.

I don't know if you want to give me his e-mail, phone number, or just send him over...but I'll get started on the photos and Dave can bring the flight goggles and marmalade.
 
Did I misspell BANANA?!?! God i'm drunk.
 
Uh huhuhuh...he said "mansicle".

You guys meet the most interesting people. I've got to move to a bigger city.
 
There's got to be something behind that mansicle. Do I see another candidate for Swollen Testicle Friday?
 
she said masicle
 
poochie,
I saw you in that damned suit and I still think it's reject-post-Farrah Charlie's Angels gear. No matter what my family thinks--truck driving mama you ain't. But oh baby--those tatas are fine. The starbucks man had every right to acost you.
 
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