04 April, 2012

The Party Guy

So a while ago I went to a burlesque party.  Yep, you read that right - burlesque.  Now I love burlesque because, frankly, I like showing off and burlesque gives a girl a chance to wear her corset on the outside.  Wasn't missing that one, no sirree.

Anyway, the party was a triumph!  Lots of people went to lots of trouble.  There were beauties everywhere in feathers and satin, masks and towering heels.  And not a few fellas gave it a red hot crack with bow ties and waistcoats the look du jour.  Naturally,  whenever lots of charming, gorgeous folk get together and there's more than a little bosom on display, there's a fucktard trying to hit onto the women and generally being a pain in the crack. 

Meet The Party Guy.

The Party Guy (or PG as he shall henceforth be known for the remainder of this post) is the guy who doesn't care who he hooks up with, as long as he hooks up.  He'll shamelessly flatter and lavish attention on all the women who'll stop for a minute to listen, playing the room, hoping beyond hope that there's a self-loathing lass suffering from morbidly low self-esteem, or a girl who has consumed such a vast quantity of booze that she'd fuck her own grandmother.  Either puts him in with a chance.

This fellow's speciality was flattery.  Now I confess that one of my character flaws is that when I really don't like a fellow who refuses to take the hint, I perversely torture them to see how insulting I can be and still have them running around my stilettos begging for attention - and what stilettos they were.  Here's a sample:

PG: You have the most beautiful hazel eyes.
DFF:  They're not hazel, dickwad, they're brown.  Now piss off.

Undetered, he continued

PG: Oh, I want to be your friend on facebook! What's your surname?
DFF: [Tells him - but isn't telling you dear reader, oh no.  Nice try though]
PG: Oh, there's two of you. Which one are you?
DFF:  Well, there's the one with the picture of the shoes that I'm wearing right now, or there's the blonde.  Which one do you think it is?


The night ended poorly for at least one lass who foolishly got into a cab with PG.  From what I can gather, he tried to jump her in the back of the taxi.  After repeatedly asking him to stop, she got out of the cab at the lights and he drove off, leaving her on the street at 3 o'clock in the morning.  Which makes him not just a douchebag but a first class heel to boot. 

Needless to say, I declined his facebook friend request.

Party's over, dickhead.

1 comment:

  1. Needless to say, the Party Guy is not an Alpha Male. One of the known alpha male traits is being calculating. It's about quality, not quantity.