From Lost In Las Vegas
At Cesar’s palace I overheard you speaking with a sex worker about your plan to drink yourself to death. I was immediately jealous of your vacation.
I’ll never ever ask you to stop drinking if you never ask me to stop believing in the way you looked in that sport coat.
I’ll be at the Flamingo.
From A Historical Hottie
Me: I was on a field trip with my 8th graders to see the Declaration of Independence; we had spent the semester studying the great patriot Benjamin Franklyn. I have brown hair, brown pants, tan sweater, and brown sandals.
You: Stealing the Declaration of Independence. Looking hot, exasperated, kind of Italian.
Let’s rewrite American history??
From The Salivating Swinger
Near the alley where I go #2 there’s a diner, I believe you are the proprietor, the tall balding fellow. So that soup table? The one that comes with free soup for the needy? It’s usually occupied. Obviously it’s occupied. It’s one table. That might be reasonable in a quaint town, but in New York City it’s a drop in the ocean. Aren’t you and that woman millionaires?
Anyway, you’re not a bad looking couple. Do you swing?
From An Adult Video Amateur
I was browsing the adult video market, the one run by the Mexican guys downtown in the underbelly of a strip mall. I was thumbing through the amateur made VHS tapes when I heard a voice ask in very poor Spanish for “peliculas de snuff” and I whirled around as fast my head would turn, but instead of a horrible monster pervert, I saw you! A tall, hunky stack of mancakes.
I don’t have peliculas de snuff, but I’ve got a sublet apartment and a penis.
From A Frisky Face
Me: clinician assigned to removed your face from someone else’s head, and thought you were much cuter than the cop with his ridiculous chin. I heard you had died already in a pretty long chase after the most implausible exposition ever, so I’m sad. But would not mind sitting on that face of yours anyway.
From The Valley Vixen
I was on the beach and couldn’t help but notice the hairiest punk rocker I’ve ever seen. Most punks with their shirts off look like 9-year-old girls, but not the hirsute beach bum punk that I laid these sore eyes upon.
I wonder what dark smoky bars you hang out in… Probably tons cooler than the phony preppy parties on the rich side of town where I hang out. All we do is drink Malibu and coke… and do coke.
Show me the other side of the tracks?