Turning Shit into Gold since 2006
YOU: Cute dreaded blonde chick ranting and raving about harvesting your new Farmville plot while sipping iced java at the Starbucks by the university campus.
ME: Guy in the Old Navy cargo shorts and flip-flops, obviously spying from behind my Men’s Fitness magazine admiring your online agricultural skills. Want to plant weeds with me sometime?
ME: Totally shy gal sitting legs crossed on the third mat down on your left at the exorcism abs class at the 23 hour Fitness Universe on Senate Avenue.
YOU: Making the cutest faces as you expelled that demon trapped inside of your yoga toned frame. Meet me next week for a light, mid afternoon snack at the dumpster behind La Madeline?
YOU: Preaching your doomsday fantasies to a less than enthusiastic crowd in the mall food court in front of the chick-fil-A. Your inner darkness excites me.
ME: Browsing the sample trays at the Little Italy, Big Slice restaurant adjacent to your soapbox. Want to smoke, blow, and stroll through the Hot Topic sometime?