Comedy Whirled

No seriously, do I?! Because I got asked to give some dude a blow job while walking through central park…in broad fucking daylight.

 

My favorite part of this whole situation was I had just come from an interview… I was in a fucking pencil skirt, for Christ’s sake!

 

His asking price, you ask? Ninety-one dollars.

 

….you couldn’t scrounge up nine more dollars to make it an even hundred, eh big spender?

 

And lets not forget that I this occurred in broad daylight…so dude, what exactly was your plan here?

Hide behind some random bush? Unless this begins with dinner and a movie…I don’t really see this going anywhere.

 

Side note: I’m about to get a frantic call from my mother after she reads this post in in five…four…three…two…

 

Oh hey mom. Oh yeah? You read my latest post? Don’t worry…it’s New York…weirder shit has happened…remember when I told you about that dude who threw up next to me on the subway before an interview? Shit, I didn’t tell you about that? Well this dude threw up next to me on the subway before an interview. I swear to God something similar happened to Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City…or maybe it was Charlotte…mkay…love you too, mom.

 

Any who, I totally saw this dude check me out too, before this exchanging of words occurred, and I was all like “Score Natalie…You are looking good today”….in my head.

 

And then I cussed him out. Homie don’t play that game.

 

Don’t fuck with this bitch when she is wearing a pencil skirt.

 

“Maybe it was your hair,” said one of my good friends, Caitlin. “You have really big hair.”

 

I do have really big hair.

 

“Or maybe it’s cause you wear eye-liner on your bottom lids…. I read this article that said only prostitues wear eye liner on their bottom lids.”

 

Duly noted.

 

“But I had my ray-bans on…”

 

“Must have been your hair then.”

 

God damn you, hair, with your luscious curls straight out of an 80’s music video…stop clogging up the fucking bathtub.

 

I stormed into my apartment repeatedly screaming… “Do I look like a fucking prostitute!?”  My roommate, Matt, then proceeds to hug me and in his best Kermit the Frog voice, joke, “Whose my little prostitute?”

 

And then, Matt, my voice of reason goes, “Oh come on…you know this shit is gold for your blog.”

 

And so it was, Matthew…so it was.

 

“Just don’t tell your mom, I said you should have taken the offer to help pay for rent….she’ll hate me forever.”

 

Duly noted.

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Comment by Ian on September 6, 2011 at 9:27pm
As opposed to a Non-fucking Prostitute?  The term Broad Daylight comes from some twisted gothic vernacular for Day Whores.
Comment by Iverneil on September 6, 2011 at 12:29pm
He probably spent the whole day out there, starting at $1.00 then adding one dollar at a time for each new request, you just happened to be number 91. (good thing you turned him down, he only had $13.43 on him, if someone finally went for it, he was going to offer to do their dishes)
Comment by mellowpuma on September 5, 2011 at 10:05pm

91 dollars, negotiating 101: figure out the right price THEN CUT IT IN HALF!

"maybe it was your hair".  do people like that even look that high?  Answer: nope.  Maybe you just "got it goin' on".

also, "good friends" identifying with the dude who tries to buy sex.  what the what?  time to downgrade them to "goodish friend".

Roommate=awesome.

Matt=OK "fodder for the tell all" would've been better.

 

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