Just like on Sex and the City or Will and Grace or all those other shows about urban single women that I never watched, I’m off to spend my Valentine’s Day lunch with a gay man. We’ll try to perpetuate all kinds of stereotypes–he’ll say “You go girl” and I’ll say “Why can’t I meet a guy like you, but straight?” and he’ll say “Men suck” and I’ll say “No, they must not all suck.” and he’ll say “the good ones do, honey, the good ones do.” Then he’ll pretend to be my boyfriend for some reason and I’ll be crushed when he actually finds true love.
Shit, that’s just like my real life. Let’s not do that.
Do y’all remember when Fritz admitted he’d never seen a vagina? That was some funny shit.
It turns out that I’ve found the perfect solution. All the hotness of a bald, biker dude; all your curiosity satisfied.
…God, that dude is hot. I’d fuck him…
Oops. I got distracted there. If I don’t return from lunch, tell the police to start with questioning this dude.