Petty Theft Is The New Sexy

Okay, your intrepid reporter once again reporting from the trenches of mating and relating hell with a WTF moment so beyond my comprehension I had to pull in special celebrity guests.

Remember Local Boy from this post? After spending an evening perfecting my Heisman trophy stance in deflecting advances best compared to a popcorn flick (lots of pyrotechnics, can't disguise the plot going absolutely NOWHERE, as per Seinfeld) and crankily wiping the drool produced by Sahara desert levels of thirst off of my boots, I realized one of my accessories was missing. Thinking it had been misplaced in my deflection tactics, I left a message letting him know I wanted the item back, polite as a Sunday school teacher.


A week later, I get a phone call at midnight to come pick up my stuff. At this point the bullshit reek has become unbearable, and I guarantee I'll be by to retrieve said item and be on my way. The ensuing conversation (bullet pointed for the sake of inanity) after it was revealed I was not going to be sticking around (as the day I agree to be anyone on Earth's sideline ho is the day I should be shot in the head and sent to the glue factory) is a new breed of asshatitude:

• It isn't treating someone like a whore if you let them spend the night

• Not sleeping with someone you've known for 6 hours total is an indication of an unbreakable chastity belt

In the end, it became clear that he was being a spiteful prick due to a severely damaged sense of entitlement. Forget dinner and a drink, nothing says "sleep with me" more than stealing an object you have no use for (and has little to no resale value) in the hopes of ransoming it back for some ass! It's a combination of shady, desperate and broke I haven't seen since crackheads in Bronx housing projects. Though the simple solution would be to bat my eyelashes and play along to gain entry and administer a solid beating before retrieving my stuff (using kinky sex as the rationale for the bruises and police issue handcuffs attached to my belt), I'm not going to bring needless theatrics near my family's house out of respect. I've already made a public fool of the jackass concerned and reputation is everything to the psuedo hardcore. Besides, shopping for better, bigger versions of the shiny object in question almost reduces the headache caused by the sheer lack of logic involved. There's only one thing to say, really......

In the name of cult religions and small purple guitar players, what the FUCK is wrong with these people? The only logical fragment I can think of is that crack is one hell of a drug.