Note: This has been backdated to be the first post. It actually happened like a year and a half later. That being said, it’ll give you a good feel for what this blog is about.
Dave: “They definitely think we’re rapists.”
Me: “You think?”
Dave: “Yeah, you need to stop asking where they live as a pick-up line.”
Me: “Ah, meant to ask where they’re from. Whatever man, you need to back me up on that shit.”
Dave: “I’m not going to back up a rapist.”
Me: “Fine, I got an idea. I’m leading on the next one. Let’s try those blondes in the corner.”
During my senior year of college I was a notoriously controversial columnist in our school’s paper. The column was mostly about picking up girls, but also hit on masturbation, job hunting, and farting. Needless to say, the bar was pretty much my number one source for material.
Dave and I wandered across the bar to practice another round of hitting on girls. I squeezed in next to a tall one on the end, the one most separated from the pack.
Me: “Hi, quick question. Why did the Jew go to the bar?”
Intrigued, the girl turned towards me.
Me: “I don’t know, but he won’t leave me alone.” I pointed at Dave who was standing behind me.
Dave: “Dude, you know I’m Catholic.”
Girl: “You’re Catholic? So am I!”
It was quickly becoming one of the strangest pick-up conversations I’d ever experienced. Regardless, we ended up singing hymns, reciting prayers, and reminiscing about our sacrament experiences with the blonde and her friend for about twenty minutes before they figured out who I was.
Dave: “You know Robbie in a Column in the paper? This is Robbie.”
Me: “Thanks for that Dave.”
Girl 1: “Oh fuck. You’re not going to write about this are you?”
Me: “I mean, I might. But it’s OK. I don’t use real names. I’ll refer to you as Girl 1 and Girl 2.”
Girl 1: “Wow, you really are a misogynist prick.”
The girls looked at me in disgust for a moment before her friend chimed in.
Girl 2: “Yeah, ugh… Can I be Girl 1?”
Me: “Yes. So where do you guys live?”