As I wander through Wallymart, women walk by me, their scrumptious shit cannons shaking back and forth. Idea for a pick up line: “Please oh God please just let me fuck you, for I am desperate.” Normally, when people are scanning for a checkout line at a supermarket, they search for the shortest one. My sneakers squeak on the shining tan tile as I walk towards a narrow passage between shelves containing various brands of candy and magazines filled with hateful lies about famous people. I strategically stop behind a short college-age woman with long brown hair, hipster glasses with no lenses, and wide hips that make my mouth water.
“Long line, huh?” I say to her, initiating a casual conversation. My brain adds, “but not as long as my dick right now.” I quickly glance at the line; it is much longer than four inches. At the end of the line a mentally challenged bagger with a permanent sneer bags the groceries so slowly it seems like he has a muscular disease. The young lady rotates around to face me.
“Yeah,” she replies, “I need to get going! I left my fifteen cats at home alone. They might be eating my tampons.” She smiles at me. Like most women, she is initially attracted to me, thanks to the pheromone cologne which I purchased for ten dollars over the internet. What happens? What goes wrong? When a girl gives a single smile to a male stranger of the same age, it’s clear that they’re crying out for cock. This girl has dark purple eyeliner on; as always, I want to ask her who assaulted her or if there’s anything that I can do to assist her.
“You have cats? Oh my gosh I love animals; furry friends are my favorite forever! What kinds are they?” I say excitedly, feigning interest in her meaningless life. I do love animals, just not cats. They make my eyes red and puffy and give me dire diarrhea.
“One is a tabby, one is a Pomeranian, one is a Spaniard,” she says, or might have said, I’m not exactly sure. I zone out when women give me useless details like this. Even though I asked for them. Isn’t it immoral to pretend to be interested in someone? Regardless, she’s not going to quiz me on this, so I just peer into her pretty blue eyes and wait for her face-hole to shut. “Down boy,” my brain commands my cock in a doomed attempt to control my throbbing erection. She flips her soft brown hair over her shoulder as she recites her list of useless trivia. Finally, her mouth stops moving.
Or simply wait for next weeks installment of the cult comedy, Lying for Sex.
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