Ahhhh… just got home from a super fun party. I went out with a friend of mine from highschool who I haven’t seen for years and her friend. A few beers into the whole thing, I find myself in the middle of the dancefloor, just going nuts, egging everybody on, trying to get all the squares to shut up and get funky. FUNKY! With all caps! A few people joined me, but these regular kids are just so repressed… it’s as sad as it is funny. Every party I’ve been to in Brooklyn, I guarantee, I’m the only straight guy who knows how to get out there and shake his ass. I don’t know how it happened, or why, but I know that I’ve gotta let the music do its thing… you know? Oh, I know, I was there. And then, I was sitting one out, and this totally gorgeous asian girl named Annie introduced herself, and kept getting all up on me, and her boyfriend would come over, and they would dance all fake and lame, and she’d look over at me… And then he left, and she came over, and grabbed me, and we were all hips and synchronization, and she was perfect and funny and beautiful… Ah, these girls. They tease me. I mean, we were getting down in the kinda way where she was like slapping my ass, and obviously enjoying it (as, of course, was I), and we’re just dancing for like ten minutes. Then my friends and I decide its time to go. Annie’s boyfriend comes back - more lame fake dancing. Weak stuff. Just fake weak stuff. I know, cause I got the real stuff. So, I bide my time, wait till they split off, I grab her arm as she goes by, flash my phone at her, ask if she’s gonna give me her number, or is it like that… meanwhile the boyfriend is like paces away, lame facial hair and weak dance moves on the rampage… she gives me this fake ass line, “Oh, I’m sorry. I just love dancing.” Man, what a bunch of fake shit. I haven’t been played like that in a while. She loved more than just dancing, let me tell you that…. Okay, I’m done with my half-drunk monologue about this girl, this girl Annie. No hard feelings. But let’s get some things straight here my friend: a man knows when he’s getting his ass spanked and it means something. Y’all can’t front all of a sudden like you don’t care when your whack-ass boyfriend is suddenly in the house. Especially since the whole time we were dancing, you were all like “I hope my boyfriend doesn’t see.” Fuck that, man. Fuck that straight to hell. That’s some phony shit.

In conclusion… I had a wonderful night anyway, and Hall & Oates rules!

PS. Two google searches people used to find me: