Bungle in the Jungle

Having survived a cold, Christmas with both of her parents and snow, all in one day mind you, we find our heroine at a bar on Christmas Day evening. She's had at least 1.5 drinks already and is dismayed to find the entire staff of the bar across the street from her apartment at this different bar several more blocks down the street. Even though the bar across the street from her house was supposed to be open but isn't, obviously, because the entire bar staff is here, drunk as shit.

Did I mention she had to put on her actual snow boots to get there? Snow, Not. Our. Friend.

Enter 45 year old man, Mike LeDouche. Mike sees our darling and begins to chat her up. One thing you have to understand about our heroine is that older white men totally dig her. Mostly because she listens to the same kind of music they do. That and one other obvious thing but we'll leave that one alone. All I'm going to say is that men on Harley's have a serious predilection for our girl. Serious predilection.

So when Jethro Tull comes on the music player and she starts singing. WHAM! They're in love. It's instantaneous. They don't see it coming and the only thing old white men love more than a stacked woman, is a stacked young woman who won't bitch about their iTunes playlist.

Unfortunately for our heroine, there is only one man over 45 that she, our darling, would settle for. Mr. LeDouche, he's not him. Sadly, George is probably in his villa in Italy drinking the night away and we'd like to think that he's thinking about our girl. Yeah, we'll leave it at that. He's thinking about our darling heroine.

So when Mike LeDouche starts to pour it on thick and heavy, our girl, she doesn't pull her punches. She merely says 'You? Not my problem,' as she curls her lip up, scrunches her eyebrows together and up in that 'Ugh.' facial expression. She walks away from the tell-tale ticking time-bomb that is this 45 year old man who has deluded himself into thinking that Hell has indeed frozen over with the incoming snow and monkey's have finally flown out my father's butt. He thinks not only does he have a shot with our darling but it's a bull's-eye!

The great part is that she won't even look back to see the destruction. She'll just chuckle with satisfaction knowing he's blown his ownself up. He was always only aiming at his own target painted on his chest. And if she smoked she'd probably light her cigarette off of his flaming wreckage. She's that cool.