Spent Friday and Saturday nights at the same damn place, Cafe Bleu. Friday for a pre-wedding party of a guy I don't even know. Saturday for a buddy's birthday. Other than having more degrees and licenses than virtually anyone I know, his other mark of distinction is knowing all the words to the lyrics of over 100 songs. Me, sadly I only know three: When Doves Cry, Bizarre Love Triangle (It is the Asian-American national anthem after all), and Me So Horny [Explicit Lyrics].
My friend's talent is an enviable one, because unless you've got a wisecracking, foot-long pecker, nothing does a better job of both impressing and amusing the hot females.
MAN: Why hello ladies ...
WOMAN#1: Ugh, you repulse me.
WOMAN#2: There's no way we're having intercourse with you.
MAN: Pack it up, pack it in! Let me begin. I came to win, battle me that's a sin ...
WOMAN#1: Hahaha! My disgust for you has spun itself into a cocoon and has emerged a butterfly of lust.
WOMAN#2: House of Pain? We're totally having anal sex with you ... oh wait, that guy's enormous penis is telling ethnic jokes.
I guess I should've done something more epic this past weekend other than getting hammered with a bunch of drunk, poker-playing guys til 4 AM; because my girlfriend's mom and sister left LA on Sunday after a four-month stay. This means my days of pseudo-singledom are pretty much over.
Coupled with the fact that my launch projects are almost done, my Department of Debauchery may be facing major cutbacks. Grey Goose and Patron are already planning their first round of layoffs. At least now my liver can finally turn its attention to other matters like synthesizing lipoproteins and storing glucose.