Life of a Manchild Chapter 41 – Indecent Proposal

Chapter 41 – Indecent Proposal

When I went home for the holidays in December 2012, I ended up spending New Year’s Eve at my buddy the Luzzbuster’s house with two or three other dudes.

“Oh my god, Luzz,” Sweeney said as he spat out a wad of chewed-up pizza back onto his plate, “what is this shit?”

“What’s wrong? The anchovy’s no good?”

“Anchovies? What the fuck? Who orders anchovies? This is the saltiest thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

“I mean, I never had it before. I decided to get it because the Ninja Turtles always eat it.”

“Dude, no they don’t. The Ninja Turtles hate anchovies. And now you got this extra, extra large pizza that no one’s gonna eat because you misheard a quote in a Ninja Turtles movie. What the hell, man.”

“Hey, do I look like I give a shit? If ya don’t like it, ya don’t hafta eat it. I got a ham goin’ in the oven that should be done any minute now. You can dig into that instead.”

A couple hours later, after no one touched the anchovy pizza, we’d been sitting around the kitchen table eating ham and drinking whiskey while Psy performed “Gangnam Style” on the televised countdown.

“This year, know what my New Year’s resolution is gonna be?” Luzz asked.

“No, what?” I replied.

“It’s gonna be to suck my teeth at more bitches.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he said, then wrapped his tongue around his upper teeth and made an obnoxious slurping sound, “the bitches can’t resist it when ya suck yer teeth at ‘em.”

“I’ll hafta remember that.”

“For sure. Take it to other countries with you. You’ll get so much ass you won’t even believe it. You’ll come home and be thanking me that I taught you how to suck your teeth at the bitches. You just wait and see.”

“Hey man, I don’t doubt it. I have total faith invested in your methodology.”

“You better. But just be careful you don’t suck your teeth at the wrong bitches. ‘Cause then you might end up getting stamped.”

“Getting stamped?” I asked. “What’s that?”

“It’s when a chick’s bouncin’ her ass up and down on that big ol’ meat hook o’ yers in the reverse cowgirl position but she’s got a dirty asshole so each time that thing makes contact with your lower abdomen, it leaves a big shitty stamp on there for ya. That’s what gettin’ stamped is.”

“Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll be sure not to suck my teeth at any bitches with dirty assholes,” I said and took a swig of my whiskey. “So what’s been new with you? Anything exciting happen when I’ve been gone these past five months?”

“Well, me and Sweeney were thinking of making a porno called ‘Switchblade Slim and the Luzz-Dumpster.’”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Sweeney was thinking about growing a mustache and taking up heroin so he can get real sickly thin then start to practice getting boners on command. So, like, each time when a girl’s ready to have sex with him, he might look like he’s not ready because he’s totally flaccid then ‘BANG!’ – outta nowhere his boner flips up like a switchblade and he’s ready for action. That’s gonna be his trademark move.”

“That’s pretty cool. I wish I had a switchblade-action dick. I like that. So what’s your specialty gonna be?”

“For the part of the Luzz-Dumpster, I’m gonna hafta gain like twenty-five pounds in my gut alone so I have a massive beer belly and look like a total slob. My specialty is gonna be having sex on top in the missionary position while repeatedly belching in my partner’s face. It’s called ‘The Missionary Burp.’ It’s gonna be great.”

“How romantic. I love the idea. But seriously dude, what’s new?”

“Eh, not much man,” he sighed. “Same old shit…Well, actually, I have been meaning to ask you, have you been to Dubai yet?”

“Not yet, but I’ll be stopping there on this next trip. Why you ask?”

“You know my sister and her husband live out there on one of those manmade islands shaped like a palm tree, right?”

“Nah, I didn’t know that.”

“Ah, well, yeah, she does. And I’m gonna be visiting her the first week of March. You think you’ll be in the area?”

“The first week of March?”

“Yeah.”

“No fuckin’ shit. That’s exactly when I’m gonna be there.”

“No way. That’s great, man. You can crash at my sister’s place. We’ll go for magic carpet rides and get our wishes granted by belly-dancing genies and shit. We’ll have an awesome time.”

“Aw dude, for sure. That timing is fuckin’ insane.”

Little more than two months later, following a late afternoon flight from Sanaa, Yemen, from the airport I took a taxi to my buddy’s sister’s place to where I’d brought a bottle of duty-free Crown as a gift for my hosts. But as it turns out, Luzz and I ended up chugging the Crown as soon as the hosts went to bed before he and I went out for a night on the town.

Before going to Dubai, I had no idea how strict of a dress code they had at every single fucking place where liquor is served. Even though I’d been wearing pants and a decent shirt, they still wouldn’t let me in anywhere on account of the flip flops that’d bottomed out my ensemble.

“Man, this is fuckin bullshit,” I said after our fourth or fifth rejection. “I just wanna get wasted.”

“Well,” Luzz replied, “wanna take a cab back to the apartment and grab some shoes real quick?”

“I can’t afford it, man. I didn’t know how ridiculously expensive this city was. Didn’t think a cab from the airport was gonna cost thirty bucks and another twenty apiece for one from the apartment down to the bars. City’s a fuckin’ rip-off.”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s our first night. We should get loaded. How ‘bout I buy you some shoes?”

“Nah, I’m not comfortable with you spending your money on me. Besides, I don’t think any retail shops are open at this hour.”

“Well, I wanna get loaded and do a bunch of stupid shit in a foreign country. And I want you to get loaded and do stupid shit with me. So I’m gonna buy you some shoes,” he said and then began walking away.

“Where you goin’?” I asked.

“Let’s go to that KFC over there and see if any of the employees are willing to sell me their shoes.”

“Yeah?” I laughed. “You think they’ll sell ‘em to you?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“No reason. I mean, freshman year of college, my roommate Tommy met this black guy in Evanston who was wearing this shirt that said ‘I LUV BUSTDOWNS’ on it and it had about three or four pictures of this black chick with a monster ass wearing a thong and high heels, posing in public and shit. And when Tommy saw him wearing it, he said to the guy, ‘Hey man, I like your shirt. But what’s a bustdown?’ And the guy shook his head and goes, ‘Man, you don’t know what a bustdown is?’ And Tommy shrugged. And the guys like, ‘A bustdown is pussy and a blow job for twenty bucks.’ And then Tommy asked the guy if the chick on the shirt was a bustdown and he said she was. He said that he’d personally photographed this hooker and had a shirt made up with her image on it. How funny is that?”

“That’s pretty wild. And he bought it from the guy?”

“Well, yeah. He said, ‘How ‘bout you gimme that t-shirt and I give you twenty bucks you can use to go get another bustdown?’ And the guy accepted the deal. Took the thing right off his back and handed it over to Tommy. It’s one of the greatest shirts I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s hilarious. Let’s hope these fuckin’ dudes over here in this KFC are as willing to give up their shoes.”

When we first entered the restaurant, there’d been a few people in line ordering food and we’d gotten in right behind ‘em. After they’d all dictated their culinary needs, we stepped to the front and some young Filipino guy asked us how he could help us.

“Uh, yeah,” Luzz began, “I’ll take one order of your shoes to-go please.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Will you sell me your shoes?”

“My shoes, sir?”

“Yeah. Ya see, they won’t let my buddy here into any of the bars unless he’s got the proper footwear and I wanna buy him a pair so he can get in and party. The problem is all the retail outlets are closed right now which is why I was hoping you’d be willing to sell me yours.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that, sir.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“How ‘bout those other employees back there? They willing to sell me their shoes?”

“No, sorry sir, this is our job. We’re not allowed to sell our shoes here.”

“Ah, shit. You know of any other fast food restaurants around here where the employees are allowed to sell their shoes to drunk guys that come walking in late at night?”

“No, I’m sorry sir,” the guy laughed, “I don’t know any place like that.”

“Alright, alright,” the Luzzbuster said. “Thanks anyway.”

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