The sleek blue 1983 Lamborghini cut through the night air like a mother-in-law cuts into a sterile son-in-law’s dignity. Alex Scott bought the car from a police auction two years prior and it had once belonged to a former Soviet arms dealer named Nikita Verelenko. At one time Alex had almost started an international incident after mistaking a landmine left in the trunk for a space age walkman. He was indicted on three counts of terrorism after trying to sell it on eBay but it was decided he wasn’t guilty just dim-witted (it now says dim-witted on his police records)
The car had seen better days. One of the doors was even replaced with a dryer door from a local Laundromat but Alex didn’t care, he still claimed he could “make women’s toes curl” in it. Alex’s friend, Rick Turner, was less than convinced. With his long dirty blonde locks blowing in the wind Rick turned to Alex:
“Alex!” Rick had to scream because Alex had retracted the roof of the car (the car didn’t come as a convertible but after Alex had taken a chainsaw and duct tape to it the car had become one)
“What Rick?”
“Do you think we’ll actually find women at this place?”
“Rick, it’s not possible to walk out of here without a girl and if you’re lucky maybe even two or three. My friend went here last week and he said there were only two other men in the whole club. The rest were women.”
“Yeah. That’s all well and good but do you think we can find women here? We’ve never had that much luck before.”
“Speak for yourself. I picked up a girl at a bar just last week.”
“The Ukrainian girl?”
“Yes, the Ukrainian girl. What? You didn’t like her?”
“You mean besides the fact that she robbed you at three in the morning and sped away in your mother’s Miata?”
“She obviously robbed me so she can keep my memory with her at all times. She probably missed my scent.”
“I was unaware that your PIN number carried the scent of your Tom Selleck cologne.”
“Well it does.”
“So, does your mom still think the guy who owns the Fruit Shack has her car?”
“Yeah. I think she’s getting suspicious though being that Alejandro rides his bike everywhere.”
Alex’s Lamborghini pulled up to the bar. His car was the most noticeable in the lot thanks to the gaudy cobra that Alex painted onto the side and a bumper sticker that read “Communists Spread the Love” that he was never able to peel off from the previous owner. The neon lights from the club filled the car with the promise of many girls and little need for pants.
“Cat Calls? That’s the name of the club?” Rick asked.
“Yeah man. Trust me this place is swimming with women. And we’ll be on the lookout for the ones with the least to lose. Women are like baby seals. Lure them into your boat with the promise of a free meal then club them in the back of the head.”
“You didn’t actually bring a club with you did you?” Rick had worry about this sort of stuff ever since Alex’s ‘chloroform rag’ incident hospitalized three waitresses and a Salvation Army worker last Christmas Eve.
“No stupid, I didn’t bring a club. We’re at the club.” Alex responded.
“So what was the club a metaphor for?” Rick asked.
“The club.”
“The club was a metaphor for the club?”
“Now you got it.”
Rick was confused. Anyone would be confused.
The two men walked into the club and sure enough laid their sights upon the sea of women that filled the establishment.
“Look at that!” Alex exclaimed “I haven’t seen this many women in one room since my grandmother’s ‘Murder She Wrote’ role playing party.”
“Yeah. How do we go about this? Do we start talking to them?”
“No, we have to play a role.”
“A role?”
“Yes. Lie a little. Tell them you’re something you’re not. Not many women are going to be impressed by two General Managers at a Blockbuster Video. We need to entice them with something.”
They weren’t really General Managers but in fact Assistant Managers. They took all of their orders from a 17-year-old pyromaniac who suffered from gout. He was promoted ahead of both Alex and Rick because he was never caught stealing foreign films that promised “Brief Nudity.”
Alex then spotted two women sitting at a table alone.
“Those two right over there. They look lonely.” Alex grabbed Rick and began to walk.
“They’re not very good looking.” Rick screamed as he chased Alex down to the dance floor.
“They don’t have to be. We’re not going to pick these girls up. We’re just going to hit on them and build up our confidence. It’s like a warm up. Like how competitive eaters throw up before a match so they can get their stomach acids flowing…”
“Or how people soak their hands in warm water so their fingers are loose before playing chess?”
Rick was actually a very accomplished chess player. He had been in three national tournaments and one was even televised. Unfortunately for Rick the tournament that was televised also happened to be the one where he lost in 45 seconds to an11-year-old Albanian chess prodigy named Besian Vlora. There was even a made-for TV-movie about Vlora’s life called “Game of Life: The Besian Vlora Story.” In the film Rick was erroneously thought to be a female by the producers and was played by portly former child actor, and “Facts of Life” star, Mindy Cohn.
“Drop the chess crap, ok? Last time you pulled that shit we got beat up by those weird Checkers fanatics. Just talk about something normal.”
“Like dinosaurs?”
“No. Not dinosaurs. Not anything. Talk about what the girl is wearing. Just keep complimenting her till she sleeps with you. Women feed on compliments…”
“Like a Brontosaurus feeds on greens?”
“Yes… just like that.”
The two men approached the women. Rick was wearing his only-funny-if-you’re-a-nerd-shirt that read “I’m Not a Pawn” which featured a picture of a white Chess pawn disobeying the king. While Alex was wearing his novelty shirt that read “Don’t Worry I’ll Have Your Daughter Back Safely.” No one ever found Alex’s misogynistic shirts funny and he was routinely splashed with pink paint by angry feminists.
“What are you gonna say to them?” Rick whispered.
“Just follow my lead.” Alex approached the women.
“Hey ladies. I don’t know if you two follow the Milwaukee Brewers, but I’m Alex Spiegel.” Alex had used this pickup line four times before and it had never worked. There was one woman who actually did believe he was on the Brewers but she just didn’t care.
“Shut up!” the one woman screamed. “I love the Brewers! My dad is their accountant. What position do you play?”
And this is when the woman inadvertently revealed Alex’s Achilles heel: he knew squat about sports.
“Yes Alex, what position did you play?” Rick asked with a smile on his face.
“Hummuna, Hummuna, Hummuna” Alex panicked. “Guard?” he answered.
The two women just stared at Alex in disgust as if he just told them that he enjoyed Jennifer Aniston films.
“This is why I hate people.” The women then turned away.
Alex and Rick then slunk back to their corner and began to game plan some more.
“That was all your fault!” Alex exclaimed “If you didn’t have that girly long hair they would have totally went for us. Cut your damn hair!”
“Me cut my hair? What about you with that bowl cut? You look like Shirley Maclaine!”
As the two men argued something suddenly caught Alex’s eye.
“Rick! Look at those women over there by the Virginia Slims machine.”
Rick looked over and saw two women that resembled sofas more than people.
“You mean the two fat ones?” Rick asked
“Nope, next to them.” Alex responded.
Alex then turned a little more and saw two women with faces that would repel even the scabbiest Leper.
“O man. The uggos? They look like those big rock things in Mario that try to crush you!” Rick asked
“Nope. Next to them.” Alex answered
Then Rick turned and saw who Alex was talking about. Two women. Two buzzcuts. Two pairs of combat boots.
“No! Them?” Rick scowled.
“Yes, them. C’mon. They meet all of the qualifications.” Alex smiled.
“What qualifications?” Rick asked.
“They’re women…”
“Barely.” Rick interrupted.
“And they’re breathing. There you go. Qualifications met.” Alex smiled.
“Alex, I think we can do better than this.
They can’t do better. Trust me. Narrators are never wrong.
“I know we can do better but let’s just try it out. The uglier the girl the less they say ‘no’ to. And I have a spare car battery in my trunk with one of their names on it.”
“I don’t need to have sex this bad.”
“Really. You haven’t had sex since the Bush Administration.” Alex reminded Rick.
“I know.” Rick looked down.
“The first term.”
“I know.”
“The last time you had sex iPods didn’t even exist yet. Now my 85-year-old grandmother has one. She didn’t even have a television until the 1970’s. Okay. I don’t think you can be picky. If you were on a deserted island dying of starvation and someone offered you a pulled pork sandwich would you look at them and say ‘Oh, no thanks I don’t like pork.’”
“No.”
“Exactly. So treat this girl like you’re starving and someone offered you a pork sandwich. You’re not eating it for the taste. You need it to survive. If you don’t start using those things dangling between your legs soon I’m afraid I’m going to have to give them to someone who will.”
“Fine. Ya know it’s not like you have sex that often either. You’re on the Summer Olympic Schedule, once every four years.”
“I had sex last week ass-for-brains. Remember Laurie Danvers?”
“Laurie Danvers? Isn’t that the girl that caught you outside her bathroom window with a pencil and sketch pad?”
“Yeah. Her dad caught me.”
“And then…?”
“And then told me if he saw me one more time he was gonna shove the pencil and pad down my throat so far it was gonna look like my colon was taking notes.”
The two men approached the women. Alex was hoping that the Susan Summers workout tape he stole from Blockbuster would help him with the ladies. Rick was hoping that the dimly lit bar atmosphere would help him look better. Rick had taken third place in the “World’s Best Looking Silhouette” for all of central Colorado last summer.
“Ladies. Can me and my friend buy you two a drink? Perhaps something of the cheap variety?” Alex asked.
The two women looked up and gave Alex one of those ‘There are four different varieties of ape I would rather have buy me a drink than you’ stares.
“No thanks pip-squeak. I really don’t think you belong here. Although…” the one woman looked right at Rick. “Your pretty friend can buy me a drink any day.”
Rick’s heart stopped for a moment. Then it started up again. Only to stop for another second. He hadn’t been this nervous since he accidently walked in on his ex-marine cousin crying during “Steel Magnolias.”
“Me? You want me to buy you a drink?” Rick shook.
“Sure. It’s better than your little friend over there.” She looked right at Alex who was busy trying to find loose change in the Virginia Slims machine. “My name is Pat by the way.” Pat’s burly physique stretched her clothing so much that it made the picture of James Dean on her shirt look like John Goodman.
“What a coincidence, so is mine.” Rick lied. One of Alex’s nuggets of advice was to lie about everything. His theory was that sex should be like a black-ops mission. You sneak in the middle of the night, try not to make eye contact and slip out before anyone even knew you were there or who you were.
“Are you new in town?” Pat asked as she drank out of a Long Island Ice Tea courtesy of a 20 dollar bill that was dangling out of the back of Alex’s pocket.
“I’ve lived in the area for a few months.”
“You look familiar?” Pat was now studying Rick’s face. “Have I seen you somewhere? T.V. maybe?”
Rick was now having flashbacks of his ill-fated chess match that ended with him crying on national T.V. It actually became a viral video on youtube called “The Crying Geek,” it was set to “Jungle Boogie” by Kool and the Gang.
“No, I’ve never been on T.V. Ever. I’m allergic to cameras.” Rick started to panic.
After a few drinks Pat turned to Rick:
“You want to go back to my place?” she asked.
“Uh, sure. I just need to find Alex.”
“Oh, he’ll be fine. He tried to touch my sister’s leg and she put him in a sleeper hold.”
Rick looked over only to see Alex slumped over in his seat with his head now being used as a cup holder for Pat’s somehow burlier sister, Deedra.
“Yeah sure, we can go to your place.”
This is what Rick had been waiting for ever since he last had sex. Rick hoped this time would go better being that last time he was finished before the girl took her pants off.
As Rick buckled himself into Pat’s car she turned to him:
“I love your hair.” Pat ran her hands through Rick’s wavy hair and started to kiss him on the neck.
“Thanks. My mom says I look like Leif Garret.” Rick smiled.
“I don’t know who that is but if she’s half as good looking as you she must be a lucky girl.” Pat smiled.
“She?” Rick asked.
“Yeah.” Pat smiled. “I’m so glad you came tonight. I hate going to these lesbian bars. They’re usually filled with such butch women. I’m glad I found someone a bit more … dainty.” Pat then began to unbutton Rick’s Wrangler jeans with the Pot Pie stain on the knee.
“Wait a minute.” Rick stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Pat asked.
“Wait! That was a lesbian bar?” Rick was now sweating clean through the seat of Pat’s Hummer.
“Yeah silly. Cat Calls. It used to be known as Cattyshack.”
“You think I’m a lesbian?!?”
“Uh, yeah. Aren’t you?”
Rick’s ill-fated chess match was now the second worst day of his life.
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