I was dancing having a great timer, and noticed a foxy little lady in the corner sipping delicately from a glass. I made my way over, grinding on whatever object got in the way of my thrusts, and made a snappy entrance.
"Girl, tell me what I gotta do to get next to you."
She must have seen me coming a mile away. How could she not? I was clearly the most attractive man-beast in there. All the ladies (and some dudes) eyes were on me. How could they not be? Her retort was coy and playful.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, guy? There's no music playing, why are you dancing?"
Well shit. I was pretty drunk. I thought music was playing. Thankfully the Lord blessed me with a quick thinking brain.
"Baby, there's music all around. But what do you say we make some of our own sweet music... in my car. [in a whisper] It has leather seats..."
She gave me this horrified, disgusted look. I've seen that look before. She was into what I was throwing down.
"If I said you had great eyes, would you hold them against me?"
"My eyes? Are you asking me if I'd put my eyes on you? What the hell is wrong with you?"
It was obvious this girl was like a fine roast nearly cooked to perfection. All I needed to do was close the deal.
"I'm gonna be up front with you. I'm the President Obama's son. That's right. He's my dad, we go way back."
"Let me get this straight, you ass hole. You, a very white stupid looking drunk guy, expect me to believe your father is the president. A BLACK guy?"
"Whoa, let's not get racial."
"No, leave. My boyfriend is gonna be here any minute and he's gonna kick your ass."
"I'm sorry, I thought for sure you'd be a liberal. This is Madison isn't it. I'm sorry my dad isn't white, lady. Why you gotta, why you gotta get your boyfriend to beat me up for that. You got a, you got a beef?"
By this time I had her pinned. The web of lies she built were beginning to unravel. It was only a matter of time before she fell to the powers of my seduction.
"Leave me alone you asshole."
"Girl, you need to check the food chain for a second. You have something we in the medical profession call 'Thunder Thighs', all right? Second your eyebrows are too thin, and your glasses make you look like a magician. Don't get me started on your tits. Are you smuggling wet socks filled with door knobs? They're sad tits. Like mournful tits. Sad like a kid with Progeria cracking all his ribs trying to catch a NERF ball... two suicide notes stuffed in a bra sad."
Things got a little heated after that. She hit me in the face and we were both removed from the premises. I think that's the last time I drink before bingo.