Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

L.A. Woman

Bobby.

“Busy.”

Bobby.

“Working here.”

Bobby.

“What?”

I think she likes you.

“I know. Shh.”

Get in there, Bobby.

“Dude.”

GET IN THERE.

“Can I talk to you over there?”

Shall we shuffle over?

“You bet.”

SHUFFLESHUFFLESHUFFLE

What’s up, buddy?

“Pal, y’know: I truly need no help with women.”

Gonna neg her?

“I don’t use that word.”

Neg, Bobby. Neg. Short for negative.

“What’s that?”

You give her a backhanded compliment. Like, “I usually go for girls who look like girls, but you’re almost kinda cute.”

“That’s not a backhanded compliment. That’s, uh, just rude and creepy.”

Okay. How about, “You look like the type of woman who’d marry Lou Reed.”

“That’s just a straight-up insult.”

Well, you got anything?

“Well, I was planning on being charming. And, uh, you know: handsome and tall. Also gonna play the Rock Star card once or twice.”

That’s a much better strategy.

“Been working pretty good for me so far.”

Get back in there, slugger.

“Sure.”

2 Comments

  1. Luther Von Baconson

    February 2, 2017 at 12:10 pm

    .. . . . . .

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