Only at a street fair.

Last Sunday, I walked down to the local hamlet's street fair.

Having been in my hood for about a year, I thought it'd be a great way to expand ye olde horizons, check out the hamlet's selection of MILFs, scoff at the latest in ladies' tattoos (eww) and chug a few adult bevvies in the beer garden. It'd be a great way to spend the afternoon after a morning spent reading the LAT, NYT, watching Nadal confuse Federer and take in some World Cup. Innocent fun, right?

Christ, I wish.

The girlfriend, the dog, the neighbor and I walk down to the soiree. A block north of the shindig, a woman screams out in agony. "My dog! My dog!"

Sure enough, the woman, who was carrying her little lap dog in the third tit zone like a goddamn Paris Hilton fashion accessory, had the dog outfitted with a harness, but not a leash. The dog squirmed away and took off like the proverbial Meat Loaf album title.

I looked down at my dog (had him three months), saw the dog moving with 10x the viscosity of greased owl shit, and like a real dumbass, I take off after the dog like Adrian Zmed in "TJ HOOKER" chasing a perp through the wily back streets of Santa Monica.

I go up the hill. Nothing. I run through mild cross-traffic. Nothing. I keep running uphill.

Now keep in mind I'm outta shape these days, as I'm currently beset with home remodeling and major allergy issues (I found out I'm allergic to rabbits today. Damn). And the run is entirely uphill to the Greek Theatre. I go anyway, yelling the dog's name. Sprinting like no one's bid'ness. I hear the owner cry and it makes me run harder.

Eventually, fatigue kicks in. I see the owner hop into a Smokey and the Bandit-era TransAm (complete with t-tops and eagle on the hood). I wonder if this is all for naught. But suddenly, the karmic payback kicks in at about Mach 74.

A woman with aftermarket bolt-on tits the size of Rhode Island runs up next to me (keep in mind I've never seen this woman before in my life). She says "Wow, is that the dog's owner getting in that car?"

"Yup."

"Wow, she's brave for doing that, but I used to be an escort, so I did that a lot myself, gettin' in cars and trucks with strangers."

"Rrrrrrreally? Do you still do it?" I asked.

"Nah, my boyfriend helped me get out of that and doing pornos."

"Oh."

"Yeah, we just had a baby."

"Congrats."

"Thanks.

By this time, we had found the dog, and we were at a traffic light, waiting to cross.

"Oww, my tits hurt."

"I'm sorry," I said, as I watched her massage her boooo-bies.

"Yeah, I just had them redone. I didn't like them, so I had them boosted up to a double-D. I'm not supposed to run for like six weeks, but I had to help that girl. They cost 12 grand, but I want them to look fake for fitness competitions."

At this point, I decided to test her bluntness. "Have you ever been DP'd in porn?"

"Oh yeah. Love it."

"And your boyfriend's okay with you getting fucked on camera. Does he watch?"

"Oh yeah. The more the merrier."

Two postscript notes:
1. Didn't ask if I could finish on her grill.
2. Didn't get a photo. But trust me, she's fresh off the SS Springer.

 

Outstanding work!

 

Oh. My. God. An Adrian Zmed reference. As I live and breathe, I was sooooooooooo in love with him.

 

I'll second that. I am truly not worthy.

 

God bless you, my son.

 

You get a number? You know, for follow-up purposes?

 

He was great in Bachelor Party.

 

But not in Grease 2.

Then again, no one with the exception of Michelle Pfeiffer was any good in Grease 2.

 

I hate when this happens.

 

The scary part is (okay, one of the scary parts), when I asked her if she ever did DPs, that was my exact quote. I never spelled out "double penetration" or "do you like to be airtight" or anything like that. I dropped the initials and she totally knew what I was talking about.

My spider sense tells me making love to her would be very akin to throwing a pickle down a hallway.

 

Scratching my head trying to think of a suitable "pickle down the hallway" gag, but I'm stumped.

Bravo, by the way.

 

West Coast Vol's gonna scorrrrre tonight! He's gonna scorrrrrrre tonight! *mumbling the other lyrics* He's gonna score score score score scoreeeeeeeeeeeeee...TONIGHT!!!