Monday, August 11, 2008

Michael Phelps, or How I'm Going to Get Misty Into a Hot Tub

Steve comin' at you buzzed, pumped, and in love.

Here's the deal. Michael Phelps just tore up the swimming pool, getting his third medal, which, like my main man Dale said is a lot. And here he is swimming and all that, and I think to myself, I need to get Misty into a hot tub.

So here's my first date with Misty.

I tell her I'm gonna pick her up at about a quarter to eight, and then I show up thirty minutes late. Here's why. Women love that shit. It's mystery, irresponsibility, and sexiness all in one.

So I ring the doorbell. She comes to the door looking like an angel straight from albatross island. She's wearing a bikini and a feather boa. I say, "You look like the new hotness." She says, "You look good enough to spike." I hand her a box of melted chocolates that I bought earlier in the day, and like a total motherfucker left in the hot car all fuckin' day. I tell her Dale, my motherfuck of a roommate, melted them. It makes no sense, but she laughs.

So I say, "Let's get some fuckin' food." We go to McDonald's and I pay for it. Then I say, "Look, let's go chillax in a hot tub." She says okay.

First we go to a wal-mart and steal a garden hose. I stuff that shit down my pants and even though there's a huge bulge nobody says nothin' cuz I got the GOODS, you know? Then we break into a pool store. I learned how to break a window all ninja-silent back in Boy Skowtz. So it takes me twenty fuckin' minutes to find a place to screw the hose in, weird cuz it's a FUCKIN POOL STORE, right? Finally I duct-tape the thing to the bathroom faucet. It takes about two and half hours to fill this hot tub up, but that's cool. Misty and I talk and get to know one another. She explains the physics of a well-placed bump, and I tell her about the time I got my hand stuck in a vending machine.

The hot tub is finally full, so we get in. It's hot as a son of a bitch, but I cool it down with some ice cubes I find in the backroom refrigerator. I light a candle. It smells of victory lavender, which is a combination of lavender, volleyballs, and sand. We laugh and I tell some crude, somewhat sexist jokes Dale taught me. She laughs cuz she's a slick-rigged motherfucker.

We stay in the hot tub till we're pruny as a couple pugs. I ask her if she wants to get some late night coffee and shit, and she says, "Well I need to get home to my husband."

I tell her that's cool, but before you go I have a poem. She acts all shy and shit, you the way women get when you're about to do something cute. I read it to her. It says this: "I used to think volleyball was a bunch of shit, but then I saw Misty hit- that ball straight to the ground, round and round after motherfuckin' round.- Her ass is a lustrous moon, my eyes are two staring stars- the way she hits a volleyball makes me want to steal cars- like DMX the rapper, who has a lot of money but steals anyways. Misty May-Treanor, you are one fine fox."

Then I drop her off and head home. I tell Dale all about. I think he's jealous, but fuck it, you know? Who ain't.

I ask him if he minds. He says he doesn't mind, but I can tell he kind of minds, but I'm going to do it anyway.

Only a total gay would stay loyal to a friend when Misty May-Treanor's ass is up for grabs.

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