who?
sixteenth august | eight something, evening
Call me Rabbit Fighter
Seven or eight years ago I had a pair of pants that said LUCKY YOU inside the fly. I didn't realize they said this until I'd brought them home, but I was glad anyway. The humor was only improved by the fact that I wore them mostly during a stretch of time in which there were pretty much no YOU's who got LUCKY, which is just as well, since not long after I started seeing the LUCKY YOU phrase plastered everywhere on really bad clothing, like Mossimo bad. Then one day as I was flipping through a tattoo magazine, there was a pic of two guys who'd had LUCKY YOU tattooed across their groins. To this day I still reallyreally want to know what the percentage of females was who got up, grabbed their clothes and stormed out after seeing that. I doubt very high, since it's often dark and I wouldn't really trust any girl who was attracted by whatever other external signals these guys were giving off to suddenly come to her senses, but I'd like to think at least one did. I wonder if they still have the tattoos.
I do sympathize with the plight these guys faced. It can be difficult to communicate to someone just how lucky they are, especially to taste the head you haven't shaken off in the last six trips to the can since you started on the Milwaukee Ice, and the subsequent beer-and-nicotine spooge delivered promptly like a waiter with the dessert tray. But scraping your tonsils while a beer can balances on your head is just one kind of luck we generous testicular types have to offer. I'm thinking about having LUCKY YOU tattooed across my forehead, so the lady in question, whoever she may be, can look down between her legs and know just how truly fortunate she is.