Drunken Compadres
Ever walked around the streets of your town, drunk, after 3am? If you don't, you should start. You can meet some really bang-up citizens that way. Okay... Maybe not.. but you can sure meet some strange ones. Case in point.
I have this friend. Normally, I am a normal, calm person. Well as normal as normal can be... Anyways, when this friend and I get together, we go nuts. It's like our brains temporarily shut off. Recently, we went out for "one drink" which quickly turned into "one pitcher" which quickly turned into "This bar is closing! Let's go find another one that's still open so we can drink and party some more!"
Of course after a night at the bar, you have to eat something bad for you. So we made a pit stop at McDonald's, and made our way to a comfy curb, to sit and enjoy our gourmet treat. As we were sitting, this drunk, wobbly man came up and started talking to us. Of course we used the automatic brush off response that many girls use when approached by drunk guys. "Sorry, not interested. We're lesbians."
However, appearances decieve, and this drunk guy was smarter than he looked. "I don't believe you unless you prove that you are lesbians." Okay, so we weren't actually lesbians, so we had to backtrack... "Oh (horrified look on face)! We're not together..." This went on for some time, us trying to brush him off and him thwarting our attempts. Finally it came out that he had 9 year old twin girls. And it also came out that this guy thought we (two drunk girls eating McDonald's on a curb in downtown Vancouver at 3:30 am) would make great role models and even better mothers for his daughter.
The idea of being mothers weirded even us out, so we had to be on our way. Not without a final parting comment from my friend "Bet you can't wait until your daughters are 14 and pregnant."
Surprised he didn't shank us right then and there, we were off. Once again, having met some of the city's finest.
Okay, maybe you shouldn't hang out to meet people like we met. In fact, I wouldn't recommend it at all...
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