Fatties on ice

A week from today, I'm hosting No More Fatty Day, in honor of my one-year breakup with Fat Weekly. My friends actually requested this fiesta as they hated him. He was, indeed, a fat hairy slovenly douchebag who had a tendency to crap his pants regularly. I will serve fried, fatty foods prepared with much love for my poor friends who were subjected to his presence.

Last night I was outside, having a smoke, at Black & White when who appears before me? Fatrick McDouchebag. Dear god. He looked like a wrinkled asscracker. And he looked especially short and a bit hunched over. He didn't acknowledge me. I didn't acknowledge him. He was with two girls. One was a Gaf regular, much like Fatrick and myself. Weird. Weird. Weird.

So, I was checking out a guy on match.com for a friend. She had a date with him that night. Next thing I know, he's emailing me! (There's that wacky thing on match.com where you can see who's been checking you out). He writes "touch . . . don't look!" I respond that I have a boyfriend and am just checking him out on my friend's behalf. I know it was unnecessary but I said, "you're not my type."

And this was his reply:
a. who is your friend, I'll make sure not to bother with her
b. you have a boyfriend and your profile is on match..?? I feel sorry for him
c. not your type? only idiots have "types"..
d. you'd be worthless for more than a blast of cum in your face anyway... too old, too short.. and need to look up the definition of "slender" . .. don't think it includes pasty, fat legs . . .

My friend went out with him last night. He was a gentleman. Very cute, very charming. I'm content knowing she has a wicked ace up her sleeve for when he gets dicklike with her.