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Monday, September 26, 2005

HELL HATH NO FURY

Time for more fun with the locals at the barbecue joint, and, ladies, this one’s for you:

On Friday night one of my favorite locals — the Brooklyn Blarney Blonde, a friendly lady with attitude to spare and a thick neighborhood accent like you just don’t hear anymore, especially when she gets riled or excited — breezed in with another woman in tow, sat down at the bar and proceeded to natter on for quite a while over some pretty stiff drinks. Since it was slow for a Friday night I went out to say hi and Brooklyn Blarney Blonde introduced me to her friend (whose name eludes me at the moment), to whom she said “You should talk to him about this.” I arched an eyebrow in Spock-like curiosity, and the new girl blurted out that men just can’t be trusted. Brooklyn Blarney Blonde (who will henceforth be referred to as Triple B) then took up the tale, and if this isn’t like something straight out of a movie then I don’t know what is:

Over the summer Triple B was dating a local guy and eventually hoping for something a bit more substantial from the guy, relationship-wise. Then a few days ago he announced that he had to break up with her since he already had a girlfriend — a detail that he had previously neglected to mention — and said girlfriend (we’ll call her Lady X) was on her way back from her summer-long vacation in India. Needless to say this did not go over well with Triple B, but what could she do about it?

Skip ahead to late on Friday afternoon, and Triple B is doing her laundry at the local laundromat. While emptying a dryer, Triple B overhears another tall blonde recounting the details of her summer trip to the laundry’s proprietor, a trip that happened to have been to India. “So you’re Lady X,” said Triple B, and the two of them began to talk, all of the details of the situation with the douchebag boyfriend being aired, when the boyfriend drives up and spots Lady X through the window. He cheerfully waved at her, but his cheeriness immediately turned to raw terror when he saw Triple B talking to Lady X, at which point the guy peeled out with such speed that the G-forces must have pushed his balls straight up his esophagus.

Admirably, the two women got on like a house on fire and did not have any hard feelings for one another since they were both clearly the victims of a total scumbag. Instead of resorting to a screaming, crying, hair-pulling on-the-sidewalk catfight they retired to the barbecue joint’s bar for a few hours, vented about the assholism of men and plotted their revenge. As far as I know there are no concrete plans cemented for the stupid bastard’s ultimate fate, but I will keep you posted once I am made aware of the details.

4 comments:

Scraps said...

Ahahaha! Oh, man, that is satisfying.

Velma said...

Oh, dear. This makes it very tempting to hang out there more often, just to be there the day of the end of the story.

sjakkmatt said...

Love a nice catfight.

Anonymous said...

isn't posting stuff like this what got you into trouble with your boss the first time?