Women.
If it weren't for the off chance of
hitting on the local checkout girl at the grocery store on his weekly routine
of milk, fruits, vegetables, chicken and pasta run, Frank would have never
ended up in a place like this. There’s something he despised more than having
other guys hitting on the girl he liked than having them doing it on reality
TV.
"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. What I
wouldn’t do for a piece of ass" he thought quietly to himself. Not that it was
too hard to come by, the local girls at his favorite watering hole Essie’s made
it pretty obvious who he was going home with that night, but he’s been eyeing
up Pam now for quite some time. The long brown hair, big pouty lips and fake
bust were hard to ignore. A little shorter than his taste but Oh! Those big
blue eyes of hers, Frank could easily see himself getting lost in them…amongst
her better parts.
Sitting in a studio lobby waiting
anxiously for her to come out, looking at the other “competition” Frank sizes
up each man around him. The man on his left, a tall lanky metrosexual wearing
beige slacks and striped button up shirt with his peach sweater vest made him a
no match in his mind. Unless it was for being the biggest bore, that he was
sure he would win.
The slightly older gentleman to his
right was playing up the sophisticated type with his reader’s glasses, trimmed
beard and a briar pipe. The smell reminded him of the same pipe his old high
school football coach use to smoke during the half time show. Who the fuck
smokes a pipe nowadays? And what type of dumbass does he think she is? How many
girls have fallen for this douche canoe?
The thought of it angered Frank, and made him want to punch his pompous
chin that much more.
The two gentlemen sitting on the
sofa wearing their jeans and white affliction no limit tee shirts could pass
off as brothers…or lovers? That made frank smile. Seeing no visible scars,
crooked noses or even a cauliflower ear put his mind at ease that these two
were no fighters, but daytime posers.
Frank doubted them ever being in a fight unless it resorted to snapping
each other asses with a wet towel in the shower.
The Guido in the tight fitting
black shirt sitting on the edge of the sofa posed the biggest threat. Maybe not
so much in the fighting arena, judging the way he’s built - barrel chested, big arms and shoulders, but
skinny legs beneath those designer jeans. They always seem to skip leg day. No
surprise there. The only surprise frank thought is how he even got into those jeans
without removing his testicles. They must be located in that man purse of his
wrapped around him.
6:05pm. Glancing back from the black
and white clock on the wall across the room it’s about half past time Franks
waited. Listening to the five of them bicker like a bunch of clucking hens
about who was the best man for her, who had the higher education, who had the
bigger dick, cluck, cluck, cluck, is all he heard. Frank was not known as a
patient man, more of a quick to rise and fight, and his temperature was past
the boiling point.
“Listen up needledicks!” Frank shouted as he kicked out the
stool underneath the legs of Mr. Pompous.
“I have a show for you that you’re not gonna wanna miss
tonight.”
Room falls silent.
“Alright. I had enough of you pansy ass, wannabe,
dinglefucks. Wipe that sand out of your
vaginas and Stop crying about what’s going to happen, and start worrying about
what’s happening right now!”
Shocked the five of them have all
eyes glued on frank now, but not as shocked as when Frank pulled off his shirt
and his pulled down his jeans and stood there amongst the five of them in his
white, baggy, fruit of the looms underwear and red socks yelling “BANANA TIME
BITCHES!!!!!”
Stunned by the sheer audacity of
the now underwear clad man where reason once stood beside them failed to see
the first blow land on Mr. Pompous chin, knocking him clean to the floor. Frank
noticed the metrosexual standing with all his weight on the right hip, and a
well-placed kick to his knee brought him down faster than a three legged horse
with polio. “Ha-ha!” Frank shouted with
glee just before he ran at the two on the sofa and announced “Look up
Buttercups.” Frank leaped over the brothers, smashing the two knuckle heads
together, knocking them unconscious before his feet landed on the other side.
Without a moment to spare Frank
turns around and just before he was about to punch out the remaining contender,
the Guido sticks his hands up like he was being robbed and says “don’t hit me,
she’s not worth it you crazy cazzo!” Frank wasn’t sure what cazzo meant, but he
took it literally as this guy needs a fucking karate chop to the neck. So
that’s what he did. And down like a sack of hammers he went.
By this time Pam and the studio
director come out after hearing all the commotion and saw what appeared to be
displayed before them was a picture of pure testosterone insanity. Slowly doing
up the zipper on his Levis, Frank could care less whether or not they were
standing there open mouthed and aghast.
“You there” The studio director said grinding his teeth, He was a short man wearing white slacks and a black button up shirt, with a big nose and even bigger moustache.
“Just what the flying fuck happened in here??? And why the
hell are you not wearing any clothes??”
Frank bends over and picks up his shirt and flings it across
his shoulders while slipping on his high tops.
“Well??!” Big nose asked.
Frank flashed a sly grin and replied: “isn’t it
obvious?”
The director just shrugged his shoulders with a dumbfounded
look on his big nose face.
“Winning your contest…Like a man.” Frank turned around and
waved an arm as he walked away. “Let’s
go Pam.” He called out as he steps
outside and pulls out his keys to his 1971 Plymouth Roadrunner. And she did.
And that’s how frank landed number #55. Like a man.
