mccullen (mccullen) wrote,

'The Charms of An Angel,' or, 'This Is Seriously Like the Fifth Time'

so on saturday night i got wasted at the elk's lodge. i got kicked out for not taking off my hat. you know, because clearly nothing signals gang involvement quite like a fedora and suspenders. have we learned nothing from Andre 3000? this is why i should never kick it in bars where the entire staff has been bussed in from eastside detroit. thug lyfe, y'all!

so then i went home and ordered some fresh burritos and ate them. some kid delivered them on rollerblades. YES, ROLLERBLADES! and then i was so full and i put on my pajamas and my stocking cap and climbed into my canopy bed when all of sudden, BOOM! my Sidekick starts blowin' up with texts.

stranger: do you want to make out with a guy in skinny jeans

i did not recognize this number so i wrote back:

mccullen: totally yes

stranger: what time and where
mccullen: meet me at the river
mccullen: okay, funny. who is this?
stranger: lets just say i deliver more than burritos


mccullen: oh
mccullen: i'm going to sleep now.
burrito deliverer: okay, sleep well

i am not fucking with you. this actually fucking came to pass. AGAIN. this is seriously, like, the fifth time.

it's almost as though i have a magic penis that somehow effortlessly taps into the libidos of blokes in the food service industry.

that said, i shouldn't really be surprised; my whole life is so completely shitty that it would figure that if and when God decided to gift me with a penis possessed of magical powers, all it would be able to do would be seduce dudes who smell like a deep-fryer.

with sweat on it.

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