The Bloggers With The Most To Say
In Which It's Just Not The Same
SCENE: It's Friday night at the club. The music is pumping, the alcohol is flowing, and every person in the club has their eye on someone else. The air is heavy with the fog that drifts down the stage where the DJ is set up, illuminating the multi-colored laser light show synced perfectly in time with the chest-thumping pulse of the loudspeakers. On one side of the room a man leans against the wall, nursing an imported beer. He's been staring at this one woman at the bar all night. Olive skin, brilliant smile, legs that go on for miles, and hair that just begs to have hands run through it. He's in the middle of thinking of what he would say to her, when at long last there are no other men hovering around her. With no time like the present, he makes his way over.
---
Her back is to him as he sets his beer down on the bar and leans up against it. Hearing him, she turns around to see who else has come up to try their luck. She gives him a quick once-over and smiles.
"Hi," she says. She extends her hand politely, and he grasps it between both hands.
"Hello," he replies, raising his voice to be heard over the music. He lets go of her hands. She sips at her drink, and looks at him over her glass, clearly waiting for him to say something.
"Take my order, 'cause your body like a carryout," he says at last.
Startled, she sets her drink down on the bar. "Excuse me?"
Thinking she can't hear him over the music, he leans in and speaks into her ear. "Let me walk it to your body 'till you hear me out."
She pulls back, confused and uncomfortable. She's starting to get a weird feeling about this man.
"What are you trying to say?" she asks, although she's not so sure she wants to know the answer.
"Do you like it well done? 'Cause I do it well... 'cause I'm well seasoned if you couldn't tell," he goes on to say. Why isn't this working? he thinks. It sounded so good in my head.
"Um, no, thanks. Go away. You're starting to creep me out." She picks up her drink and swivels around on the bar stool, turning her back to him once again.
Not wanting to be shut down this quickly, he reaches over and puts his hand on her shoulder, turning her back around to face him. "Let me get my ticket, baby, let me get in line. I can tell the way you like it, baby, super-sized."
Shock and fear spreads across her face. Is this guy for real? she wonders.
"I think you need to leave me alone now," she says, "before I call the bouncers over."
He glances up at the door, noting the two men flanking it. They are nothing but muscle, a walking advertisement for the steroid industry. He swallows hard, and gives it one more shot. Opportunities like these don't come up all that often. He leans in close again.
"Have it your way, foreplay, before I feed your appetite."
She's had enough. She slaps him in the face, and hard. He staggers back at step, and puts a hand to his face to calm the stinging. For good measure, she throws the remainder of her drink in his face. The alcohol burns in his eyes, and a brief thought passes through his mind. So that's what she's been drinking... Long Island Iced Tea.
The other people at the bar stop their conversations and look over. The bartender signals the bouncers, who immediately leave their post at the door and approach the bar. He sees them coming through bleary eyes, and tries out one last line he had prepared.
"What's your name? What's your number? I'm glad I came, can you take my order?"
She slaps him again, this time on the other cheek. He feels his bottom lip split open and then tastes the bitter copper flavor of blood. The bouncers arrive, clamp meaty hands on his shoulders, and start dragging him away.
"Turn me on, my baby, don't you cut me out!" he cries, struggling against his captors.
"Shut it down, Rico Suave. You're done here," one of the bouncers says in a deep baritone.
Before he realizes it, he's outside into the cool night air. The bouncers literally toss him out the door, and he takes a few staggering steps before sitting hard on the sidewalk. He wipes the dripping alcohol from his face and rubs absently at his split bottom lip. He hears sniggering laughter coming from the line of people waiting behind velvet ropes to get into the club, but ignores them. He's too hurt to care, both physically and egotistically.
I don't know why that didn't work, he thinks. It all sounded so good in that song on the radio.
---
If you didn't get the reference, this is my interpretation of what would happen if someone actually tried to use the lyrics from a rap song to pick up a girl at the club (the music video is linked above). Proof that some of the songs on the radio are just ridiculous.
Comment
© 2012 Created by Lisa.
You need to be a member of 20 Something Bloggers to add comments!
Join 20 Something Bloggers