|Hard to argue with that|
So I'm trying to have an IM war with Pete. He called me soft for complaining about the cold. He had no sympathy for the sound of the wind, particularly after I told him I was all bundled up with three layers in the house...where it's like 65 degrees. Whatever. I wear pants to pool parties. So he suggested I do something rugged. It actually went like this...
me: Ya you got dude here
Sent at 10:11 AM on Wednesday
Peter: caught any salmon in your mouth yet?
Sent at 10:15 AM on Wednesday
me: No. My notions of bear like life in the wilderness are thwarted by the reality of this cold
Peter: get some tights
Sent at 10:17 AM on Wednesday
me: Ya. That. Or, huddle up in my room completely layered in under armor, flannel pajamas under my jeans and a few extra shirts with a blanket around my shoulders.
me: Ya. somewhat soft
especially since it's like 65 degrees in here.
Peter: real soft
me: the wind
I hear it. It defeats my mind
the clouds. They don't stop
Peter: go do something rugged
me: I raped a deer
and haven't shaved
Peter: did you wear its head?
me: I gave her a cigarette and a fiver
Peter: shoulda raped a buck
me: That would have been rugged. With antlers, I might have worn it's head
Sent at 10:22 AM on Wednesday
me: I guess if that didn't impress you, maybe the fact that I saw a girl on the side of the road with a cardboard sign that read ' visions of a motel' will.
Which brings me to my next point. This friggin skank was on the side of the parking lot in a crowded mall, and I mean a mall that is the only one of its kind for miles and that Canadiens actually drive to-from Canada-where everyone leaving the mall passes. In terms of product placement, this is only second to the Lane Bryant (fat woman store) being wedged between cinnabon and sees candy. I'm actually not making that part up. Nor am I making the part up about the motel girl. She wasn't bad looking either. But she did look like another couple months of whatever program she was on would suck the last little bit of the red on her life-meter away. You know, like Street fighter two? Where each time you get hit the little life guage at the bottom dwindles? I suspect a little meth would be like the turbo star, or a heart from Zelda, nudging it up a little for a little stint of invincibility.
Basically, I'm just a little humbled by the boldness of this move. That's aggressive. I think Pete would have respected me way more if I was like, "nah bro, no salmon. But I did catch a down on her luck hooker at the mall." But the best part was that I was there with Shelli's dad, who's like a biker guy from the bay. He was 100% sporting an Oakland Raiders long sleeve tee shirt with a leather vest over it and a Hulk Hogan like silver Pony tail. It occurred to me that he was an authority on the subject, so I was like, "Did you see that shit? That chick had a friggin cardboard sign that read "visions of a motel" on it. Is that solicitation?" He replied, "Well, not necessarily. She needs a place to stay and if she has to put out, she will." Welp, guess that covers that. Maybe I should do some more Christmas shopping?