To CC and Fash: Lets Cut the Bull
Posted: Sun Mar 01, 2009 10:24 pm
The room is pitch black with no light except for that of a lit cigarette. Suddenly, a candle gets lit. Then another. Soon the whole room is illuminated by dozens of scented candles. The sent? Sex.
Oh, hello ladies. I didn't see you come in. As you could tell, the room was dark. You know who I am and I welcome you to Casa de Fun. Please, make yourselves comfortable. This should take a while.
I invited you both over because I couldn't help but notice you both have been repeatedly assigning me "rep" points. Thanks to your efforts I am now on a distinguished road. Where will that road lead to? My road map points to love. Here, have a drink.
Taste the bubbly as it tickles your adorable noses with each sip. Personally, it annoys me to the point where I'm scratching my nose like a coke addict. I do realize I'm a bit "odd" when it comes to normal mannerisms. I've found your subtle flirtations to be quite fun but ultimately drawn out and redundant.
Oh, my dear Andrea. I see you trying to open the door in vain. If I were you, I'd cease my efforts at making a "break for it", as it were. For as you can see...
While it may look simple, I can assure you it is anything but. If you try to open it improperly, a trap-like mechanism will spring forth and take away the appendages you fondly refer to as your "fingers".
Meh...heh heh heh.
Pardon my wild outburst of laughter. I haven't laughed like that in a long time. I see Jessica is getting into the spirit of the mood by reaching for her cell phone and calling some friends to join us. Of course, I've never known of anyone's phone number being only three digits. Speed dial, perhaps? Anyway, allow me to open the door into the master bedroom and...
Oh dear, wrong door. That was the door to one of my many closets stuffed with a dead hooker. I don't care what The New Yorker says, dead hooker beats ocean breeze as a preferred scent for the upper class any day of the week. Alas, I do find it rather cliche and almost trendy to use dead hookers. Thus, I be sure to have them accompanied in the closet...
Mmmmm...nothing freshens the air quite like the alluring scent of a decomposing clown. Intoxicating. Now, where were we? Ah yes, the art of love. Girls, have you ever heard of the position "Alabama Barn Buster"?
Banging can be heard on the front door by An's husband.
You invited your husband over? Disappointing, since I'm not into such escapades. I also hear police sirens, thus alerting me to where this night is heading. That means I must bid you ladies a due for now. Keep feeding me rep points, until we meet again. Now if you'll excuse me, I must depart through my "secret" exit.
Oh, hello ladies. I didn't see you come in. As you could tell, the room was dark. You know who I am and I welcome you to Casa de Fun. Please, make yourselves comfortable. This should take a while.
I invited you both over because I couldn't help but notice you both have been repeatedly assigning me "rep" points. Thanks to your efforts I am now on a distinguished road. Where will that road lead to? My road map points to love. Here, have a drink.
Taste the bubbly as it tickles your adorable noses with each sip. Personally, it annoys me to the point where I'm scratching my nose like a coke addict. I do realize I'm a bit "odd" when it comes to normal mannerisms. I've found your subtle flirtations to be quite fun but ultimately drawn out and redundant.
Oh, my dear Andrea. I see you trying to open the door in vain. If I were you, I'd cease my efforts at making a "break for it", as it were. For as you can see...
While it may look simple, I can assure you it is anything but. If you try to open it improperly, a trap-like mechanism will spring forth and take away the appendages you fondly refer to as your "fingers".
Meh...heh heh heh.
Pardon my wild outburst of laughter. I haven't laughed like that in a long time. I see Jessica is getting into the spirit of the mood by reaching for her cell phone and calling some friends to join us. Of course, I've never known of anyone's phone number being only three digits. Speed dial, perhaps? Anyway, allow me to open the door into the master bedroom and...
Oh dear, wrong door. That was the door to one of my many closets stuffed with a dead hooker. I don't care what The New Yorker says, dead hooker beats ocean breeze as a preferred scent for the upper class any day of the week. Alas, I do find it rather cliche and almost trendy to use dead hookers. Thus, I be sure to have them accompanied in the closet...
Mmmmm...nothing freshens the air quite like the alluring scent of a decomposing clown. Intoxicating. Now, where were we? Ah yes, the art of love. Girls, have you ever heard of the position "Alabama Barn Buster"?
Banging can be heard on the front door by An's husband.
You invited your husband over? Disappointing, since I'm not into such escapades. I also hear police sirens, thus alerting me to where this night is heading. That means I must bid you ladies a due for now. Keep feeding me rep points, until we meet again. Now if you'll excuse me, I must depart through my "secret" exit.
I need time to come up with a reply. 
