I Went to a Garden Party…

Mmmm winter.  Time to party in the student ghetto.  Pod knows of a cozy little bash.  Ever the nonchalant one, he sidles up to all the pretty girls at school as  if he’s known them forever.  Phid, on the other hand, has more of an end game approach.  He gets more, earlier; Pod’s are more loyal down the road.  They brought you because: you’re buds, there’s more than enough to go around, you can be wingman for both and maybe one of the babes has a desperate friend or an appropriately low standards.

There ARE plenty of girls.  Wow!  And they’re so nice and friendly when you’re not trying to hump their leg if they say “hi.”  Because you’re not trying to dry hump them into any corners, and just talking to them like people, it’s a great party and that one chick seems to be more entertained than most.  Of course you have no chance.  You’re the wingman, and in the time it took to remember that, Phid and the girl slipped out onto the porch for some groping.

So, be funny, and keep the housemates distracted while nature is taking its course just outside.  “Grab a brew. Don’t cost nothin'” is no small consolation.

But all good things must end: the party, clearheadedness.  If you need a pee break, or to barf up that pre-party Taco Johns, there’s bound to be a convenient car just aching to be your target.  Just not the one you arrived in, please.

Yeah, you should totally come back tomorrow and hit on these girls.  Or not.

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