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A Dutch Blonde and A cinematic fantasy.

Ain't nobody gonna fuck you like that. Just smile and be friendlier."

"You think I walk around with a mean look on my face?" I'd been told that before.

"Yeah. You also don't get out enough, man. Super Nintendo in your apartment ain't gonna get you a piece of the action. Get out. Go to bars or something. Socialize. At least try, man."

Perhaps Gonorrhea Boy had a point. Relaxing in solitude, soothing as it may be, was not going to satisfy Mr. Happy in any way.

"Like you should really just try for some bitch, you know. Set a goal. Like, 'I will get this girl in my pants by next week.' You gotta approach this whole thing with some tenacity. This whole picnic in the park approach ain't gonna do shit for you, man."

"I been tryin' in some ways, though," I said, trying to redeem myself."I mean, I think I'm a pretty good catch. I'm smart, funny, I got some skills I can show off with, I dress well...I spent a lot of money on just improving myself so I can get laid."

Total dollar spent trying to get laid up to this point: $10,224.32.

And that doesn't include the $44.00 late fee.

Donnie sat there pensively, as cigarette ashes fell onto his dirty, hole-ridden shirt. Suddenly, a light bulb flashed in his head: "You ever smoke around bitches?"

"What?"

"Weed. Or even drink around them. Or pills, man. Something to fuck with their heads."

I was getting the picture. A smile came across my face, as I envisioned Donnie's future: exiting a courtroom, trying to hide his face from the cameras, after just being convicted for date rape.

"Uh, I'm not exactly into committing any crimes, Donnie, if that's what you had in mind."

"Man, shut the fuck up. I ain't talkin' 'bout rapin' a bitch, you fuckin' moron. I'm talkin' about makin' the atmosphere inviting. I'm telling you, man, you can't just waltz on in without doing some prep work. Where the fuck you been, dude?"

I pondered his words, his ideas. They made sense.

"Look. You got a fuckin' goal. Now go get it." And with that he opened the door, sending me on my way.

The next day I made some phone calls and placed an order for some drugs: an eighth of marijuana, a case of beer, a couple of ecstasy pills, capped of with just a tad of psychedelic mushrooms.

Total expenditure on drugs: $85.00.

I would have bought more, but drug dealers don't accept Visa.

And then I saw her.

Her: the woman that could change everything. She could make things right, make things better.

She was wearing an all black, skintight outfit when I saw her that day. Her smile, effervescent and omnipresent, provided just the radiance I needed on this cold, winter day. All of her actions seemed elegant and beautiful; it was as if she did everything the way it was supposed to be done. She stood in the dining hall, placidly yet perfectly, waiting for her turn to scoop some delicious portions onto her plate. The eating utensils were already in position, as was the beverage (it was bottled water this time). A priceless picture.

"Here's your chance." Donnie was in a supportive mood, and I appreciated that. He hinted that I should make her my goal: "Be nice to tap that, wouldn't it?" Donnie's objectification of this divine creature was spoiling my vision of her. She was too good, I thought. Too good.

"No she ain't, dude. Gotta shoot for the sky, man. You want to be settlin' for second best?" Actually, at this point, I'd settle for anything. Perhaps I should approach this matter with some realism, not idealism. Perhaps I should target the ugly, imperfect, dismal women of this fine institution. They'd be excited some guy even talked to them.

"It's your call, man.

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