Bill gave me that bewildered look -- the one he displayed whenever he was cluelessly lost in his own pygmy-sized brain. "Why don't chicks dig me?" he asked.
"No one calls them 'chicks' anymore, Bill for one thing,"
I'm always trying to help people, it's my nature.
"Well, why don't women like me?"
Bill was always slow on the take.
"I got one word for you, Bill. Well, actually it's a series of words strung together. It's www.getacnetreatments.com. Your face looks like the moon, Bill. Which I guess is better than Uranus, but not by much. They have treatments for acne that can really help you battle that road rash, Bill."
"Uh, thanks, dood...I."
"Dood is a dead word as well, Bill. But, don't worry, getting rid of that cheese grater face will make you feel better about yourself."
"Will I get babes?"
"No one says 'babe' anymore, either Bill. In fact, women hate it. But, to answer your question -- probably not. Even if you get perfect skin, you'll still be annoyning as hell. And that breath. And the fact that you live with your mom, have horrendous body odor and work as a security guard at a Burger King--that stuff will work against you Bill, I have to be honest."
"Oh," Bill said.
I had a feeling this tough love session was over.
