“First of all, baby, it wasn’t me. That’s all I’ve got to say about that. I don’t care what the bitch said, I didnt. Do. Shit. I was jsust sitting there typing away, like I always do. And you know how cute I look when I’m sitting there bangin-, I mean, typing away on my little Powerbook. Baby, can I just say you look beeeee-u-tiful tonight? You do. What? Oh, I mean, then she came over to me and said, ‘Are you like a journalist or something?’ And then I was like, ‘Journalist? You trying to piss me off or what? Journalist?’ And she was all, ‘Well, you know...’ playing with her hair and shit, twisting little curls around her finger and stuff. You know, I can read people. So, I deigned to retort: ‘I’m not a journalist. I’m a blogger.‘ Which was probably exactly the right thing to say, you know, because then she was all like, ewwwwww, get it off me! which was fine by me, she’s probably in j-school for all I know. What’s that, baby? Naw, baby, I think blogging’s sexy, especially when you do it. So anyways, I was just sitting there typing away about how bad the service here blows, I mean, you know, they’re lax and whatever, and then I look over and the bitch is staring at me. I mean like retarded starin’. And that’s when I noticed that not only had she done peeled off the label on her beer bottle, she’d already got started on her date’s! Well, baby, that’s when I realized it was time to get the HAIL outta Dodge, nowhutimsayin.

“Check please! I mustered through my risin’ gorge. Now, stop that fussing. You know ya daddy treats ya right.”