In order to properly lament the end of a long weekend and the return to the mundane world, I stopped by a neighborhood bar last night, becoming the third customer in the place.
The other two customers consisted of the Dreary Old Bore, and a person with what can only be described in lascivious terms - which, for reasons of tzenua, I shall not describe. Just imagine what was visible from bar-level up.
The person with the two lovely undescribed items was happily turning back and forth in her chair. The plunging neckline left nothing to the imagination of that which I am asking you to imagine.
Or of those. Imagine them. Plural.
The Dreary Old Bore was far less boring than normal - he couldn't tear his eyes away. Just sat there staring. Mouth agape. Eyes directly aimed at whatever it is that, for reasons of tzenua, I cannot name.
What made it truly interesting was that the owner of the lovely indescribables was obviously not originally female.
But according to the bartender, they were indeed real, not implants. Just the natural result of hormone treatment.
Anything that can shut the Dreary Old Bore up has my vote. I understand that the hormone treatment is both ongoing and progressing. I keenly look forward to further developments.
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THEIR NATURAL HABITAT
There are more dogs in this neighborhood than children. One very rarely sees people walking their children outside when one is, hypothetical...
16 comments:
*Ahem*
Which bar is this?
The Encore Karaoke Lounge.
Encore!
A real woozer of a place.
Is the young lady who is oh so suggestively fondling the mic in the YELP listing the subject of your post? You know that I'LL never set foot in the joint, my views on karoake being what they are; also, it's kind of rare to find a YELP listing with such a low rating, isn't it?
snort - thanks for a great image with which to start off the day.
So did anyone see Sarah Pakin's speechy-weechy last night, or am I going to have to tune in to the Daily Show to find out what she said?
Speaking of coconuts.....
---Grant Patel
Say, what's a dreary old bore doing in a karaoke lounge, anyway?
I don't know if you have checked out the YELP listing for a certain beloved bar which at which we have frittered away what was left of our youth (and much of our livers), but there are a passel of reviews saying "how rad it is to find a bar at which you can smoke, bro", in words even more subliterate than that.
This.Is.Not.Good.
There was also a post from someone who liked everything about the place, but then puled about the smoke (Editorial comment: you are in a dive bar, you snivelling little git).
This.Does.Not.Bode.Well.
I will not buy this coconut, it is scratched!
---Grant Patel
PLease describe the unmentionables. No need to name them, just describe. Round? Glowing? Large? Small? Hairy?
Lev
Like coconuts. Fibrous. And oily.
---Grant Patel
Go away, Lev, I saw them first. My coconuts. Mine!
---Grant Patel
This of course begs the question: where does Patel Sahib hide the coconuts?
Spiros bhai, whence this fascination with my immense nuts?
---Grant Patel
And don't beg - it ain't dignified.
---Grant Patel
Or is it my collection of fine panties that you are really after?
Are you of the same ilk as Lev, perhaps?
Panties! Panties! Panties! Panties! Panties! Panties! Panties! Panties! Panties! Panties! Panties! Panties!
---Grant "The Panty-collector" Patel
You ARE a loony!
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