The Life of Rollie – Blind Date

By Rollie Oscarton

Ever since Lynne left me, I’ve been spending most of my time on the couch, either reliving better days - such as my week-plus-long hospital stay for hernia surgery during the Anaethesia Drought of 1998 – or pondering deeper esoteric quandaries such as “What peckerless suit-monkey at ESPN programming decided that four guys from eight different countries speaking 23 languages (none of which are English) sitting around a table playing fuckin’ dominoes makes for heart-stopping spectator sports excitement?” Well, my buddy Jacko decided it was time for me to bust the rut and go do something with my life. He was right – the couch, my dog Rufus, and my house robe all had that same “last Saturday’s Schlitz-and-Chili-Cheese-Frito-fart” bouquet – but Jesus do I wish he’d have come up with a better plan.

“Rollie,” he says, “I know this gal down at the plant who’s just looking for a guy to spend time with.” He yaddayaddayaddas on with all the “good personality, loves a joke” hollabolla bullshit which translates to “hideous cow-hag who gives Mary Kay nightmares”, but I listen and agree to meet her. Jacko is my pal, and you do these things for pals… and besides, he probably bribed her, and Rollie Oscarton never wastes his buddies’ money.

So I go to Steph’s Pub about twenty minutes early to brace myself with a whiskey. Well, she was punctual – I’ll give her that – but the compliments end right there. She called me out from the door with a screech that could shatter diamonds. I turned in the general direction of the howler-monkey siren-sound and saw a lumpy lavender-and-teal planetoid with clown-red hair and radioactive lipstick to match. She waved daintily (if a triple-dicking-horny she-hippo could be dainty), then advanced toward by barstool, leaving patrons gasping and fleeing in her lumbering wake. Immediately, I turned to Benny the Tender and said “Jacko did this.” He nodded and said “Get her out of here in five minutes, and I’ll let you come back in three days.” Considering the fact that getting choking-on-somebody-else’s-puke fall-down drunk only gets you a two-day ban here, I had to act.

Forcing the best smile I could muster under the conditions, I suggested we get in my car and so somewhere “nice”. Woof. The SS Brunhilde clearly operated on the French perfume-over-your-crotch-funk hygiene system. Her stench pummeled my senses so mercilessly that I instantly teared up like a gay man at a Julia Roberts Film Fest. Somehow I managed to get through the evening, and left Bozette The Elephantitis-of-the-Ass Clown on uninsulted yet uninterested terms - what can I say… it’s a gift. After fighting off the urge to pinch off a steamy pile on Jacko’s front steps, I went home, showered twice and sniffed Rufus’s asshole for five minutes straight to get Her stench out of my schnozz.

I love my buddy Jacko, but he screwed the pooch so hard on that one that he should buy that poor dog breakfast. I can laugh at my nightmares now – they are but the “Xtro” to the “Alien” of my dating reality. Oh, to Hell with it – it’s just another fuckin’ day in the life of Rollie.