I answered her Craigslist casual encounter ad. I knew after her break with Justin Long, she wanted the taste and warmth of a real man. naturally she sought me and my vagina out. We were headed to Jamba Juice, where she would be wearing one white rose in her hair and a coconut bra. I couldn't keep myself from fantasizing at red lights, while listening to the best of Kanye West on my tape player. oddly, it was one track.
"LIkE HI BRITTANY," she said when I arrived, air-kissing both cheeks. "I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU SINCE-" all of a sudden, she exploded. and not in that good way that would have made me feel imperious in my sexual abilities. no: she exploded like a pumpkin on Halloween the victim of a juvenile's baseball bat. "JENNIFER ANISTON?"
The more I gazed on the bard-less wonder in front of my emotional thunder, Suddenly, I had forgotten the image of the exploded pumpkin, and I now looked upon it as the peeling of an orange.
In other words, the dark crusty outside was peeled away, and juicy kicktastic interior was all that remained in front of me. I had one of those moments like when I saw Usher lift up his shirt and show off his meat grid six stack. I was like Jamba Juice? IN MY PANTS Then, we ran off and did that silly thing the British call FROLICKING. We took a bus ride to the bakery, eat marshmallows, drank a gallon of milk, took our pictures in the photo booth, and then, we got high as FUDGE.
Moral of the story: Jamba Juice is now codeword for Third Base Mother Fu#ker…..