Tuesday, 1 July 2014

The Ongoing Exploits of Frank Sledge #55

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.

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