Nine-Five Suited
“Alright mate, I’m going to head to the casino.”
“Oh… really? I think I’ll join you.
Des said goodbye to Vanessa and the guys. Vanessa was like “When you finish and you still wanna come out, let me know.”
“Are you going to be at Pony?” I said.
“Maybe.”
“How about the Peel?”
“Ew, no.”
“Alright, see you guys.”
As we walked up the steps of the Velvet Revolver, or whatever they call it, that secret bar under the backpackers where nobody goes, Des said to me in a drunken NZ brogue: “Mate, I gotta be honest with you – 40, maybe 35% of the reason I’m going is because I want to play cards. The other however-much percent is because that girl disgusts me.”
“Really?” I said, and laughed. “I’ve just been making out with her for ten minutes.”
“Don’t even joke.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re full serious, that’s crazy, she’s a troll. Vanessa is a T-Rex. If she ever went to Tokyo they’d fear for their lives and national monuments.”
We jumped into the taxi. “Is that her name? I’ve been calling her Valerie.”
“Either way, it’s a name much more deserving of a hotter chick.”
I shrugged. “I find her attractive. Physically, anyway. However, I now realise what a grave mistake I made. I kissed her, then I’m chillin’ out back and relaxin’ all cool. She starts wigging out that I’m not going to ring her and stuff.”
“Anything to get her onto your back and not mine mate – she’s out for the cock and she’s out for blood.”
“That’s the thing, I’m not going to call her now – I can’t. She expects too much. She’s too emotionally invested. I just wanted to make out. She wants me to call her… Fuck, I’m just not ready for that kind of commitment.”
“Man… She is awful.”
“She’s not awful. She has a cute face, nice breasts…”
“She’s awful. She is nine-five suited and you’re playing her.”
“I like fat chicks. That’s just what I like. I like the warmth, the cuddliness. The large breasts. I like to tap that booty and hear the slap.”
“Oh yeah. You know I saw this thing on Oprah – ”
“Feeders?”
“Yeah. These girls are like Jabba the Hutt, and there’s these little Peewee Herman guys who are talking about how they love to give her spongebaths.”
“That’s sick. I don’t like Jabba the Hutt. I like chubby women. Voluptuous. Zaftig. Marilyn Monroe. Christina Hendricks…
“Think about it – fifty years ago that was considered attractive, and probably for a long time before that. Large breasts, wide hips – that’s always symbolised fertility. It’s just in recent years… runway models became anorexic and got boob-jobs, and things changed. In Russian they say ‘may your wife be fat so your nights are warm’ – as a blessing… Look at Venus of Willendorf.
“Hardly any guys admit to liking chubby girls – in public – but if you go the one place where people speak their mind freely and admit anything – on /b/ – you can always find a bunch of posts of guys showing admiration and sharing pictures of chubby girls. Why do you think that is?”
“Man what the fuck are you talking about. I’m drunk.”
“Never mind.”
We walked into Crown and Des acted sober for twelve seconds as we walked past the security guards. I walked towards the cardroom escalator. Des walked in the complete opposite direction, and I didn’t see him for the rest of the night.
