If you chose to read my previous post about falling in love and lust, here is part two. If you didn’t read it and chose rather to pursue other interests please, pause your porn (I know, I know I want to see Dustin Diamond give a dirty sanchez to some chick too…chillax) and check it out; He is Sofa King Cool Part One.
Alright so, the second time I fell in love at a karaoke bar was with a man who had all the smooth composure of Joe Camel and was probably just as hip as well as relevant to youth. I was already inside, no doubt talking about girl shit. You know like, “Oh my God, I think I’m getting fat. I cried seven times today. I am craving chocolate!” Right? That’s all girls talk about men, duh.
He waltzes in with the grace of a fat man light on his feet and a great ballroom dancer. He had a cowboy vibe about him. Probably because he had a cowboy hat. He looked like he just left Sexy Time Ranch after a long day of acting out cowboy cliche’s. He started out his day shooting a crazed “Injun” trying to scalp him. Then he walked around with spurs on his boots so everyone would suddenly get quiet as he ominously approached the saloon. Finally, he turns a simple card game into a shoot out.
He has a posse. It seems he is friends with an MMA fighter. I will go ahead and make that hasty assumption because of his tight Affliction shirt and FTW body. They take the table next to my friends and I. I attempted to hide my desire by making fun of the “Sheriff” and his friend who was dubbed and his bodyguard “Leland”.
No sooner than the Sheriff arrived, there happened to be “trouble”. The next table over, I hear heated arguing. It seems like the group that was only moments ago doing shots were sanctioned into factions of who doesn’t want to fuck with who. I personally don’t know who I didn’t want to fuck with because both were so assuring no one wanted to fuck with either person. I tend to remain neutral on this subject.
Well, it seemed like the incident would go from boring to super uneventful without immediate intervention. The blonde chick really brought it when she started to point her finger, I mean now you are thinking about entering the danger zone right? Everyone knows that while you are warning the other party about what you are going to do…it’s only because you want to provide ample advisory prior to actually doing something, wouldn’t you agree? I thought so too. Tornadoes have sirens you know.
Well, luckily the Sheriff walked over to make sure the guy with the fuzzy adolescent like mustache wouldn’t “trouble the little lady”. Who is still warning “Mr. Misstache” that she was just NOT to be fucked with. The Sheriff posted up, hands in belt loops, ready to take action. He sipped on his PBR with tactical calculation. His presence being first in the display of correctional application. Leland his bodyguard/road-dog was right hand side.
Misstache takes one look at the Sheriff and he realizes he’s got an alpha male standing by. He apologizes to the blonde girl who shan’t be fucked with. He told the Sheriff he didn’t want any trouble. The Sheriff was satisfied with this and returned to his table, so he could hate gay marriage, crush on George W., and support the second amendment for a while.
Of course, by now, I am in love. I want him to herd cattle out west while I drink opium laced cough syrup and make baby after baby. I was feeling the vibes that resonated from his flattened Wrangler clad buttocks. He was putting them out or perhaps that was bison chili. I didn’t work up the courage to speak to him, it was much too intimidating. I wanted his penis on my Tombstone. He left suddenly, I’m guessing some horse thieves were reported to be lurking about outside. I really missed my opportunity to talk to the Sheriff. I probably missed out on true love. I know for sure I missed out on some good ass steak and the lynching of men who buy their salsa from New York City.
Stay tuned for part three or regret it.