Invitation is the word for this weeks Sunday Scribblings . Here's my five minutes worth. Enjoy.
Man 1: Look at those two over there.
Man 2: Over there?
Man 1: Yeah, over there. Them two right across the street, there.
Man 2: Yeah, I see them.
Man 1: Of course you see 'em. They're right in front of our fuckin' faces. Whaddya mean, 'you see em'
Man 2: I just said I see them. What else do you want? Eh? What about 'em?
Man 1: What about 'em? I just ask you if you see 'em and you say 'yeah'. Now you gotta ask me 'what about em'? Obviously you weren't really lookin'. If you see 'em like I see 'em you'd know exactly what the fuck I'm talkin' about.
Man 2: What then?
Man 1: Look at 'em! They're fuckin' disgusting! He's sittin' there lookin into her eyes all attentively. It makes me fuckin' sick! She was probably sittin' at home shavin' her box when she got the funny idea to call up Mr. Appleseed. She's all like, 'Hey, Johnny I was thinkin' we could go out to lunch and have something to eat. It'll be like a date but with less strings attached because it's not dinner'!
Man 2: What does dinner have to do with it?
Man 1: Dinner is everything! Dinner is romance. Dinner is deep conversations between shallow people. And most importantly, dinner is fuckin'. Guaranteed. But lunch? Lunch is pretty meaningless, too. It's just people too bored with their fuckin' lives to think of anything intelligent to do. So instead of reading a book or writing the great American novel, they go to Red Lobster and order the sampler platter. After they've milked that for a good hour and a half they go home to fuck. And if the broad wants some alone time? She goes in the bathroom and takes a shit. That, or shave her box. Eating, fucking and shitting. That's what those two right there boil down to.
Man 2: (sighs) So, you wanna leave?
Man 1: Hell no. Wave the waitress down, I'm fuckin' starved!