So, I went out Saturday night to meet a few friends for a drink or two.
Well, let me just cut to the chase — people making out on the stage.
What is all that madness about?
The young woman is up against the back wall pinned down by some silk-shirted playboy with a five o’clock shadow perfectly trimmed just below the jaw line.
He is grinding his pelvis into her short denim skirt with such gusto, I walked by and gave him a high five.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not commending this behavior, but if you’re gonna be raunchy you might as well be real raunchy.
Here’s the thing I don’t understand; who makes out with people in a bar?
This is the reason we have such a high percentage of gonorrhea cases.
But, here’s the real kicker, I overheard two girls talking when one said to the other, “I felt his doodle on my thigh.”
Doodle? Isn’t that a fisher price toy? You know the little bug thingy …
Anywho, call me old fashioned, but how is rubbing your “doodle” on some stranger’s thigh romantic?
Maybe I’m just missing the point, but I know Frank Sinatra would not approve of this.
I just can’t get over the “doodle” part of this.
Who calls it a doodle?
You know, that’s why things have gotten this indecent — because people call it a “doodle.”
I can’t move past it, but I’ll try.
And what about the guys who just can’t stop.
I observed this guy who, from his looks probably never went home alone before in his life, just wouldn’t leave this one pretty girl alone.
He couldn’t believe she didn’t want to grind with him and his doodle — which was quite obviously inspired to dance by the pounding bass.
Maybe it’s just because I’m no stranger to rejection, but it is just sad to see a guy crash and burn and not know why.
His confidence wasn’t shattered. He got right back out there and made out with some chick in a tube top on the stage.
Kudos, Lady Killer.
Doodle? Whatever.
But, I’m beginning to think that maybe I’m just behind the times.
Maybe instead of spending fifty bucks on a dinner, I should just stick to the 5 dollar cover charge, and shoving an oversized plastic ant in my pants.
And, instead of telling a woman she looks beautiful, maybe a should just tell her she makes me wanna “skeet skeet.”
“His doodle is on my thigh,” … incredible.