Rodeo Clown Face

“What the….???”

This couldn’t be real. This had to be a joke I just wasn’t getting. This chick looked like she applied her make-up with a shotgun or had Ray Charles do it for her. Remember the old grandma putting her make up on in the movie Airplane when it was turbulent and her lip stick went everywhere? Grandma would look like a professional make up applicator at the Clinique counter compared to this chick.

Does she not own a mirror? A cursory glance would be sufficient to realize that she does not look good. Only a rodeo clown would appreciate the disaster…but probably not. There was no discernable evidence of a joke though. I sat there stupefied. This resembled self-mutilation but without the piercing of skin; simply a horrifying topical application of gross.

She looked at me like Jabba the Hut looked at Princess Leia attired in her metal bikini. What was I going to do? I had just made a New Year’s Resolution to be nice but if she came on to me I would have no other choice than to be honest.

“I hope you brought you’re A game,” she said lecherously as she eyed the front of my jeans as though they contained the secrets to world peace.

“I have no other game to bring,” I responded while the mantra “be nice” repeated itself in my head.

“Oh you’re trouble.”

There was going to be trouble if I didn’t end this quicker than a virgin on his honeymoon. I needed to escape before I snapped and was no longer able to control my tongue. By hell I was going to be nice!

“How about we make some bad decisions?” she asked as she arched her back in a pseudo-yawn. What she was really trying to do was show of her upstairs female parts. Her belly stuck out more than her chest! How revolting! Her shirt strained to keep the mass of belly fat from escaping. If a piece of fabric could commit suicide, it would have done so then. Her body looked as though it were sponsored by adipose tissue.

“How about I make a good decision and tell you no?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Aren’t you quite the talker?”

“I may be good at talking but I’m better at following through. Now giddy up!”

She lunged toward me. My only thought was to strike her in the throat and watch her struggle for air. That was quickly replaced with “be nice.” How do I get myself into these situations? Damn these cursed good looks and chiseled body! All they do is get me into trouble. Sigh…I wish those two things were true. I could grieve about those later though. Right now I had to fend off this painted beast. I didn’t have a red article of clothing to distract her though. What else could I use?

Honesty is the best policy right? I would test the validity of that statement by implementing it and hopefully getting this chick to scram.

“You look like someone repeatedly slapped you with a rainbow.”

“To steal a line from the lame Skittles ad campaign, come taste the rainbow.”
I grimaced and fought a gag as though someone had shit on my upper lip.
This chick was silky smooth…but hideous. Those two coupled together still equals hideous. It’s like any number multiplied by 0, the result will always be 0. There is no overcoming hideous…no matter how much a girl tries to cover it up with make-up.

“I’d rather kick a puppy and drown a kitten in front of a child.”

“Sounds hot,” she said as she slowly inched closer. One adrenaline rush was apparently insufficient energy for this behemoth to sustain movement further than a lunge. She had a body for sitting not for chasing. She drug her massive whale body toward me as her mouth hung agape and sucked air in like a turboprop jet engine.

Apparently honesty doesn’t work. I was having difficulty suppressing the old me. Half of me wanted to easily escape by simply walking away, not running but walking cause she wouldn’t be able to keep up either way. The other half of me wanted to share some thoughts with this thing. How long do resolutions usually go for? A month or two? A few days was good enough for me. I proved I could be nice and at the same time proved I didn’t want to. I hope her disastrous make up job is tear proof.

“Look slim, I’m sorry for all the maladies and ills that have befallen you. Food may seem like a logical option because it, unlike me, can’t say no. If I was on the phone with you and had never seen you, I would say you would rather screw than eat, which is a good thing, but upon seeing you I now know otherwise. I may be a walking hunk of man meat but I’m not the kind of meat you throw on the grill. You can’t eat me. Additionally I don’t voluntarily consort with cattle so I suggest you mosey on to a grassy field somewhere and graze. The phrase moving on to greener pastures applies on a few different levels. I could go on an on with a lengthy diatribe but you bore me almost as much as you sicken me. I’m now going to have my memory erased.”

Looking back, it wasn’t too mean, per se, but I was too grossed out to thoroughly ruin her. It’s hard to talk when you’re gagging.