My mate AB is moving into his first home this weekend. A nice new 2 bedroom vessel for his extended family of audio visual products. To truly appreciate how excited he is about his new sleeping quarters, one must first understand the living arrangement he is about to leave.
Two years ago, AB worked in a smallish company marketing crazy frog-esque ringtones to big- ass telcos. Here he met a tasty vietnamese rice paper roll by the name of Quinn. They shared plenty of worktime chats which hastily turned into nightly Messenger chatfests that had office tongues wagging. One night following an afterwork drinks session, Quinn asked Andrew if she could crash at his place, the commonly used code for sex that you don't decypher until long after you've fucked up your one and only shot at the title. Being of good moral fibre, AB watched Quinn crawl into his bed, and seeing that she was pretty fuckin' tanked, went out to explore some new virtual worlds with Zelda on the Xbox.
Face to face and online chats began to dry-up immediately. The level of weirdness that ensued would have been appropriate had he put down the playstation controller that night and bounced his hairy beanbag on her chin for a couple of minutes. Alas, he did not, and would never.
Some months later she left that job, looking to travel to South America like all the hot little hoes who want a third-world experience to erase their first-world guilt, and to try and get a colombian stamp on their passport so I can't accuse them of being the sheltered daddy's girls they will always be. 'You should come with me' was the carrot dangled in front of AB. How could he say no? He would join her for the 5th month of her 6 month soul searching wankfest.
Upon landing in Peru he was greeted with a big hug and the great news that she'd spent the previous night fucking a Kiwi engineer she'd met on her own flight there. Joy. To top it off they were soon to be joined by Donkey-Boy, some big cocked london charmer she'd fallen for a month or so prior, who was now racing around the world to claim his kiwi-jiz-infused sticky rice pudding prize.
Despite the growing weirdness between them, AB thought that moving in with Quinn would be a good idea. He hoped that living with her would allow him to see her flaws and move on. I think he also hoped that in addition to her flaws he mite get another bite at her cherry. Alas, all he was chewing on was her excitement at the nightly phone sex sessions she had with Donkey-Boy. He soon made the trip out to Australia just in time for the GFC to remove any job opportunities for media marketers. Not prepared to take anything less than a dream job for fear it would taint his perfect fucken CV, he stayed rent free with Quinn and AB and decided he had a talent for creative writing and was going to pen a bestseller.
Ed and I arrive with AB to help him pack some his TV and sound system. I really just wanted to be a part of removing one of the many items Quinn and DB had totally fuckin taken for granted over the past year. As he said they would, the moment we entered the apartment they retreated into their bedroom. I looked at Quinn's Ugg Boots as good follow-up to Operation Jizzpillow, but having the boys around made arousal unlikely. Maybe next time. I read three pages of Donkey-Boy's life story and wished I too had the eternal optimism and total delusion that would have been necessary to write the other 200 pages of what I assume to be the same horse shit. Time to get a day job, cunt.
I should've shot the fuckin' Ugg Boots.
Goddamnit.
PWT
No comments:
Post a Comment