So
this half-wit tackles me while I’m carrying beverage
by Chase Thunder
So last night I’m at Club Waterfire, carrying a gin/tonic with a
twist and this girly Midori martini for some big-chested broad I had
been dancing with, when some jag in a crappy shirt he probably
bought in a Maurice’s at some outlet mall somewhere bumps into me.
Well, my G/T Twist gets knocked loose from my hand and it spills all
over Thunder’s shoes.
Yes, the Gucci sneaks I just spent $350 dollars for.
Meanwhile, Mallwalker Manny just looks at me with a face that
screams “I’m poor” and says to me “Whatever, bro. Watch where you’re
going.”
So I told him he better buy me a new drink, but he just kept dancing
with his girl, who looked like what would happen if Aaron Spelling
and Sporty Spice made babies. Plus, I think she was wearing Old
Navy. Probably all the wench could make off with when she looted a
home from the better side of the trailer park.
So there I am, forced to drop off this ‘tini to the girl with the
garbanzos, and I’m over there saying all kinds of awesome, wretched
things about this guy, right to this girl’s face. I really leaned
into that dime-store, burlap-sack wearing proletariat (that means
“village idiot” in Olden Times) drink spiller. A lot of that stuff
would’ve been really cool if I had said it right to him, but I gave
him a lot of dirty looks, and I’m pretty sure he saw most of those.
I wouldn’t say he looked scared, per se (that means “kind of, but
not really” in Spanish), but he definitely knew Chase was vexed.
Next time that happens, I’m snappin’. I swear to God I’ll fight the
next punk-A that spills by G/T Twist. Plus, now I’ve got to go buy
another pair of these illmatic kicks.
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