OK, went out to dinner with the Dad and had a good time overall, but on the way home, I saw a rare display of comical attempted mating ritual that was too good to resist putting a creative spin on. And thus, in the spirit of the Craigslist "Missed Connection" that this dullard would never write, here I present you with:
To The Woman I Gyrated At On The F Train
You: The classily dressed latin woman sitting in front of the map, pretending to have something interesting on your hand.
Me: The guy dressed like Rocky 1-Era Stallone.
When my tiny fedora (replete with feather), pre-ripped jeans, and slack-jawed looks failed to impress you, I did the only thing concievable. I turned up my iPod to the point at which you could surely hear it and began the best peacock-style display of my sensuality I could in such a confined space. Working only with my pelvis and left knee, I did my best Elvis impression, all the while ensuring that the tiny fedora covered what I hoped no one would notice was my "wonky eye."
For Christ's sake, how did you not notice how great I was? With my likely moderate genitals mere inches from your face moving forward, backward, and forward again... It seems simply unrealistic that it didn't occur to you to at the very least tear your shirt open. I mean, come on.
I cannot believe that you didn't even flinch when I turned, pretending to check out an advertisement, and showed you that I couldn't be bothered with a belt. Was my toned albeit flannel-covered butt not impressive enough for you?
I don't understand.
If you need to reach me, I will likely be at the gym, talking to other guys who look exactly like me, or eating italian food while mispronouncing all of the following: Mozzarella, canoli, capicola, provelone, and somehow, even pizza.
Maybe the sharp faced girl with big hair who works at the local bakery will go for me. You don't know what you're missing, girl.
The point of all of this was, of course, that this man felt no compunction to make himself not look like a retard. I find this offensive and thus am forced to come home and trash him on the internet. Not even personally. More as a type.
Maybe I'm a bad person, but at least I'm not fucking annoying.