I have a date

Well, technicially...let me explain.

I moved to the D.C. area around June 20th. Since then, I have added approximately 0 (read: exactly 0) single girl's phone numbers to my cell phone contacts. I did get one girl's number, and address, and home address, and e-mail. But don't get excited, she wanted the $25 from Bank of America for referring me and I needed to bring her info in.

Tonight, I have a date, who cannot resist me. Mainly because she cannot resist the "back" button of my web browser. I have a date with a girl named Ariane. She's probably about 28 and lives on the internet and was written in very shaky JavaScript....but I'm a sucker for damaged goods. Let's begin.

Here I just make a simple introduction. It's the only option, so I can't fuck it up.


Oh hey, I can say something funny. Let's click on that.

Of course.


Let's try this again. I'm going to say something totally hilarious, like usual.

I told a dick joke. It seems to have gone over well. Let's try a compliment.

Oh she wants to kiss but my mind is elsewhere...her gigantic cans to be specific. We'll play it safe and go for the kiss instead of a titty grab right off the bat.

I am a gentleman, that's what I'm always telling everyone. Thanks fake internet date! But...what the fuck? Sadly I am 5 years over 18 and this is kind of turning me on.

Now we're cooking. The half open lizard eyes are kind of off putting, but a dry spell is a dry spell and I need to break that shit off son.

She wants to dance. We'll go with Rock to start off, because I'm praying it's a Def Leppard song and she's going to strip.

She employs some dancing moves from 1962. I'm not impressed. And she's still wearing her top.

Agreed. Agreed. Agreed. Hungry? I feel my wallet shrinking.

Oh awesome, apparently we're having a brick of cocaine for dinner.

Fast forward. She drank a bunch of wine that I probably should have drugged and now has to take a piss. I'll wait in the hall and smell some clothes hanging in her closet.

But I'm not. I think I win. If only I could take a bra off without the girl's help.

At this point I left my laptop on the couch and went back to my bedroom to...ummm...make a phonecall. I later returned, much more reserved and calm, and hit the back button. I'll be damned if she's going to chug all the wine and leave me sober and blue balled.

I use the back button and try again.

I'm feeling pretty, um, "romantic" too after smashing on that magnum of wine.

Ariane is apparently stupid as hell. I suggested we get in the hot tub so she jumped in fully clothed.

YES! More importantly, I don't feel like messing with those knots. Take it off boo.

No, let's cuddle under the stars (NOTE: I actually really do like cuddling under the stars). Put 'em on the glass already.

WTF? What's with all these rules? Good diving form in any event.

Fast forward through some really boring and platonic swimming. I should have faked drowning to get some tongue during resuscitation.

I'm just going to take one guess where this is going.

NNNOOOOWWWHHHHHEEERRRRREEEE. As usual. Virtual reality indeed.

Well, I didn't get laid, but I did get a 7 out of 10, and little does she know that I finished the job myself all over her stupid boombox after she passed out. Good luck tuning FM stations, Ariane.

In other news, the Nats swept the Reds and good christ I'm kind of turned on from looking at these pics again.