Dear People Behind Us At That Red Light: We were, in fact, not listening to heavy metal. We were h

[napoleonherself]

There is something extremely funny about sitting at dinner with your male friend, whose apartment you're sleeping in, and who's paying for the dinner, and hearing him talk about how dinner/movie/whatever dates can be in a way "non-contractual prostitution," because the guy in question is shelling out money for the possibility of his date sleeping with him.

We saw an eight-year-old goth playing DDR at arcade in the maul. Well, somewhere around the six-to-eight age bracket. John's theory is that the poor tyke is just overwhelmed by crushing angst and stuff because this morning he accidentally put the paste on, THEN tried to color with his crayons. But hey, that's enough to turn anyone gothy, right?

We also got trapped in the maul for a bit. Then we got trapped in the parking lot. FATED TO DIE IN INDIANA MALL PARKING LOT

I now have an original giant-size four-battery-powered gray Game Boy. It cost me ten bucks. Well, it cost John ten bucks, but that's because I haven't paid him back yet. It's nice and clean, screen has a couple small smeary things but no scratches, and it plays just fine. This find, combined with a copy of the SNES game Top Gear (to which I was addicted back when I could rent SNES games from local Smith's which became Albertson's which is probably some other grocery store by now), makes me quite happy.

Currently John is sleeping and I am hanging out until I perform my assigned duty of waking him at midnight (9:00 Jenny time). I plan to do this by banging on his door and yelling something along the lines of "WAKEY-WAKEY, BIPED". I might also refer to him as "knave".

Comments

[wing-zero-ew.livejournal.com]

I have been thinking about my dating analysis since I became reacquainted with the magic of this conversation via your post last night, and it occurs to me that dating is a matter of probabilistics more than anything else; that is to say, on the part of the end user (Male A), the process involving potential female love interest (Female A) is most like using a slot machine.

Therefore, a solution to the age-old problem of human relationships is clear: regulation.

Since dating is so akin to gambling, I say, we make the process fair and equitable. Put it in the hands of the state gaming board. Test the mechanisms of said dating candidates to ensure mechanical compliance with latest posted standards. Require a listing of odds alongside pricing guidelines for each individual.

The mob could thereby consolidate their non-drug business practices under one roof; I can see it now. A casino with your standard craps, roulette and so forth, a section of coin operated slot machines, dating candidates milling about, perhaps in a tasteful pen like area, and then the prostitutes, which are simply denoted with a sign indicating your odds are 1:1.

They would, of course, be euphemistically referred to as, wait for it now...

The Slut Machines.

Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week. Please, tip your servers.

[napoleonherself.livejournal.com]

SERVER-TIPPING

MODERN VERSION OF COW-TIPPING

KER-SPLAT