Pure Slush

flash ... without the wank

One Rule for Picking Up a Woman

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by Mark Fowler   Old Memories  > 


Randy has one rule for picking up a woman. It’s simple. She has to be breathing. Outside of that he isn’t fussy.

Tonight he makes a special effort. The shimmering satin shirt with puffy arms is standard fare. The tight hipsters accentuating his assets are every girl’s dream. But tonight he puts on the jaunty fedora. The mirror screams sophistication.

Preparation is the key for Randy. He washed the sheets last week. Even turned the mattress this morning just in case.

The sound system is loaded to go. Barry White for the chic. Michael Buble for the soppy romantic. Aerosmith, just in case she’s from the other side of the tracks.

Randy checks the fridge. Romanian champagne, New Zealand chardonnay, and home brew for the less picky.

The bling swings from his open neck as he leans to open the cab door. “The Litter Box,” he says, “this tom is on the prowl.”

The bouncer acknowledges Randy with a wink. Randy shoots his two handed, single barrelled finger pistols right back at him. “Special relationship,” thinks Randy.

“Sad man,” thinks Blocker.

The Litter Box is deep in smoke. Randy likes the obscurity. The ladies don’t get put off as quickly in this light.

He slides up to the bar. Jamee, the barmaid sighs. “What’s it to be, Randy?”

“The usual,” he leers, “but I’ll settle for a Johnny Walker’s.”

“Twelve bucks.”

“I can offer more if you’re game.”

“Save it for the girls with no taste, Randy.”

He loves Jamee’s sense of humour. Uses it on him all the time. One day she’ll crack.

The blues player in the corner strains, “I’m man for the ti-imes, comin’ into to my pri-ime, every wo-oo- man wants a piece of me-ee .

Randy loves that. “Yeah, that will me be some day,” he thinks.

A tiny blonde sits alone in the corner clutching a Coke. She glances at Randy. “The call!” He swaggers through the gloom towards her.

“Pree-ty ladie, pretty ladie what this on your mind?” drawls the singer. Inspired, Randy says to the blonde, “Honey, what this on your mind?”

Carol looks up. She is impressed that a stranger can read her mood. “Boyfriend trouble? I can fix that,” shoots Randy.

They return to his place.

“Be gentle with me,” she pleads.

Randy flicks on the romantic lights. Carol sees the ultra sophistication of the bachelor pad, and Randy, properly. She cries.

“All men are pigs.” She runs from the room blubbering.

Unfazed (been there before), Randy makes a note to self. Rule 2: Avoid the sad chicks.


published 5 August 2013