Dude, please get your roses outta my face. I just want to say that I'm really uncomfortable right now. I tried to be nice and cordial the first couple of times you came around asking if "anyone wanted to buy some roses for the ladies." But look around, man. There's not one single girl in a ten yard vicinity of us on all sides. Actually, that's a lie. I can't even see that far due to all the FREAKIN' ROSES IN MY FACE!!!!

Did you even water those roses before you came out tonight? That's pathetic man. You're slipping. I'm totally calling your rose-selling superior.

How 'bout you give all these roses to your wife? That might be a nice gesture. Or not, you know. She might be at home thinking, "Man, we have a shitload of roses in our living room. I hope he's getting rid of some of those tonight so I can roll around on the carpet like before we were married." Hmmm.

Just tell me this. From across the bar, did I have a look on my face that just screamed, "I BUY TONS O ROSES!!" No, seriously. I want to know. I've never really seen that face and I kind of want to see you do it. (Long pause) Okay. Here's a dollar. Now do it.

You know that the more I drink the more I want to go buy some roses down the street at Ralph's and start a rival rose-selling company with just me and my friends vs. you. Of course that would require me to actually have friends, you know, that you haven't already scared away with your militant rose-selling ways. So you see, you screwed that dream too. Nice move, ass.

This entry was posted on Friday, June 10, 2005 at 6:37 PM. You can skip to the end and leave a response.