Sunday afternoon. I’m at Danny Baker’s place for a barbeque. I brought some chicken satay skewers and a carton of VB. Fuck yes. I am single and looking to mingle!
It’s a diverse crowd. He’s a comedian, so he has friends across the city. Around 50 of them are here today, adults and children.
I’m mostly shitfaced when we sit down at Danny’s enormous outdoor table to eat. All afternoon, between slugging down stubbies of Victoria’s finest, I’ve had my eye on one apparently-single blonde. She’s wearing a pink sundress that shows too much leg and not enough snatch, and fuuuck I would slay that.
We’re sitting across from each other at the table. We haven’t spoken yet. I pass her the salad, and she smiles a sweet little cocksucking smile. Or at least, in my arseholed state, that’s how I interpret it.
The kids are at the far end of the table babbling about some bullshit. She makes some comment to the guy next to me – the one who’s been playing hide-and-seek and drawing pictures for the little fuckers all afternoon – about how great he is with kids.
A great joke comes to mind. In an instant, I’m on my feet, before I know what I’m doing. I belch.
“So am I!” I declare. “I’m fucking great with kids!”
I accidentally lurch forward, splashing beer all over my plate. I compose myself, and pause for maximum comedic effect.
“I can make most of them cum within five minutes!”
And I wonder why my friends stop inviting me to their barbeques.
Ominous Cesspool 