Desperate Chicks Suck (clever pun intended)

So the other day I was walking home from the metro just minding my own business. As is usually the case, there were two girls gawking at my freakish good looks as I passed by them. Although these droolers are often just strangers unable to control their procreational impulses, it turns out these two I had gone to high school with.

Well this just made my fucking day. The only thing better than running late is being late and then running into people you don't want to talk to. After a scintillating few minutes of talking about which schools we went to and how much they disliked school-work, I assessed my options and unfortunately this was the smartest thing I could think of: I started picking my nose in the hopes of detering their barrage of talking. To my dismay, I was unable to pick either a big enough winner to flick on them or a mucusy-enough one to let dangle. FUCK.

To explain my predicament, allow me a quick analysis of the chicks in question. The first one used to be hot shit in the early years of middle school. Then, puberty came but it wasn't alone (and now, ironically, she probably comes alone. HAHA). Puberty brought with it an ugly stick and beat the fuck out of her. It's accuracy is enviable, is it didn't seem to miss an inch. The second biatch does have one appealing characteristic, however: she has the most insane DSLs I've ever seen. Angolina Jolie's lips look like lines compared to hers. Her lips are so big, the whole Internet Industry is jealous of her DSL. You could connect all of New York with that shit.

After five minutes of shooting the shit (I would have rather eaten my shit) they asked for my number so we could hang-out. Now, I'm not sure of societal conventions, but when two chicks have to ask for a guy's number, it probably means either their cooters smell like finely-aged diarrheal vomit or they have sharper teeth than one of those crocodiles that the Croc Hunter makes his bitch, hence negating the DSL aspect. I cleverly dodged the question by playing my Jewishness and saying I didn't have a bling-piece. I then quickly shifted to how much of a loser I am (an obvious lie to anyone who has ever had the enviable pleasure of meeting me) thinking they might lose interest. Unfortunately, not even Kevorkian himself could fool someone into thinking I'm not the fucking man. Not even a baby.

So, no beans on that effort. Obviously I hadn't been listening to the conversation, so when one chick started talking about sororities/fraternities, DSL chick started talking about how her school was all-girls. Finally, something interesting. Naturally, I cut her off mid-sentance and asked how many of her friends were carpet-munchers. Just then her cell phone rang, and she gave me the old-index-finger-in-the-air-hold-on-a-second gesture. I could only imagine how many orifices that finger penetrated and the stench from all the cooch almost knocked me out. I regained my composure, ferdunked them both with one monster swing of the vine, and booked it home.

Moral of the story: Tragedy averted once again thanks to SuperCock.

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