Yeah, I Don’t Think That I Can Make It There…
July 22nd, 2010or The Chronicles of Riddick II, at long last, a True Electric Boogaloo
First Mistake: Assuming Hec was simply speculating when he whispered, “Bell, they’re Swingers.”
Second Mistake: Oh….just being Bell.
Let’s begin…
So we’re hanging with the happy-hour horde at the Embassy Suites hotel in Manhattan when Hec decides to make small-talk with The Man with the Black Penis. It began innocently enough – with Hec commenting on The Man’s foresight to bring a glass from his hotel room to Happy Hour, thus enabling him to drink his adult beverage from an adult beverage receptacle. (Not that I’m complaining; the plastic cups were flimsy, but the drinks were free.)
“Oh, I’m an alcoholic,” responded The Man with the Black Penis. “I know all the moves.”
Big Fucking Red Flag. But Bell from Oblivion loves her a dude (or chick) willing to give up the blue-chip and keep on keepin’ on…
Turns out he’s a salesman of the sparkling beverage Nuvo. We knew it was true because he was wearing the t-shirt.
Now, pay attention kids, because I’m about to tell you how Sports Talk is the Verbal Gateway Drug to Sex with Strangers:
The Man: I live in Georgia, but I’m from Manhattan.
Hec: Blah-blah blah, Knicks, blah-blah blah.
The Man: Blah-BLAH! Basketball, baseball, football, foosball…
Stage left: Enter Woman. “Samantha.” Charming Southern Woman donning a red kerchief dress and carrying a torch for Peyton Manning.
Loving me my Manning Brothers as I do, I was then ingested into the banal Verbal Gateway Drug to Sex with Strangers. Eventually, however, Samantha wandered over to me and the Connecticut Chick Cult (sans one, who stayed home, and doesn’t she regret it now!) and the four of us made nice-nice small talk whilst the boys talked about sports… and, apparently, Swinging.
Stage Below: Enter Bell’s bladder.
As I’m meandering toward the ladies room, thinking, “My, What a Lovely Couple,” BOOM, The Man with the Black Penis is right there. In my personal space.
The Man: ___________________
Yeah, I’ve forgotten what he said, because I really did have to pee, but at some point, I blithely twittered, “Gee. You know, we’ve all been talking for an hour, and I don’t even know your name.”
The Man: My Name is Riddick.
Seriously. No, SERIOUSLY.
Me (Inner Monologue): Um, I don’t think “Riddick” is a real name. I’m pretty sure it didn’t exist until it was given to Vin Diesel (also probably not a real name, as discussed in an earlier blog).
Me (Aloud): Wow, like in Pitch Black? That was a pretty good movie, but The Chronicles of Riddick totally sucked. What was up with Dame Judy Dench agreeing to be in that film? Ramble-ramble ramble.
Riddick: So, are you all doing anything fun tonight?
Me (Inner Monologue): Ugh, I’m an IDIOT. This guy is so just talking to us to scalp some theater tickets.
Riddick: Because my Lady and I, we’re Swingers.
You know, one would think that there is just no smooth transitional phrase to connect The Chronicles of Riddick to Swinging, and one would be right. The thing is, no transitional phrase is really necessary, because how often are you going to make that conversational leap? Unless your name is Riddick… and you’re a Swinger.
Being not so much a Swinger but yet, still so undeniably hip, I simply nodded. “Good for you, Gosh Darn It. Swinger Pride!”
Determined to not come off like a Country Mouse, I stood my ground, thus goading Riddick to continue with The Hard Sell:
Riddick: You like My Lady right?
Me: She seems delightful.
Riddick: You ever have sex with a Lady?
Me: Well, I saw these two pairs of shoes once in a bathroom stall in Vegas…
Riddick: You should. You should have sex with My Lady.
Me: Now, would I only be having sex with Your Lady?
Riddick: Nah, you’d have sex with My Lady, and then I’d fuck you.
Me. I see…
At this point, I began glancing at My Supposed Posse, who was apparently oblivious. Okay, fine. Perhaps this was an appropriate time for me to practice putting down my politeness protocol (try not to step in the steaming mound of alliteration) and walk away on my own, but my pervading Bellamy acknowledged that this was one of the Most Awesome Moments of My Life. Screw you, Suburban Swing-Squad and your snobbery; I’m in New York City and hey, hey, hey, look at me and my black man. Because that was the next question:
Riddick: You ever have sex with a black man?
Me: In order to answer that question, I’m going to need to ask you a question: When you say “black,” are you including American Samoans, Sub-Continent Indians, and Australian Outback Aborigines?
Me, In Reality: Um…
And as I’m pondering whether or not NOT having had sex with a black man would make me a racist, Riddick Pulls Out all the stops…
Riddick: Can I show you something; it may shock you a little.
Me: Sure. I am Un-Shockable.
Riddick: No really, you won’t be expecting this, and I don’t want to freak you out.
Me: I am both Un-Shockable AND Un-Freak-Out-able.
Riddick (Blackberry in hand, Photo Mode): Okay…This is my Cock.
Me: I see.
I think I was meant to react with more enthusiasm, but honestly… And don’t get this wrong, because I am at least a heterosexual, but my only thought was, “It’s so veiny…”
No, that’s not true. My other thought was too look over at My Supposed Posse with a pleading glare. Because it really was getting a tad uncomfortable, and yet I couldn’t tear myself away. Train wreck avec porn, Hello!
Riddick: You know, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now if I didn’t want to fuck you.
And oh, once he brought on the flattery…
Riddick: Because you’ve got that Librarian with a Wild Side look going on for you.
Vanna, I’d like to buy a cliché…
Riddick (Again pulling out his “Blackberry”): Look, these are some of the other people we like to party with. (Naked-chick Naked-chick). Oh, and that’s my friend Larry. He was drunk in his car, so I took a picture of him.
Me: Umm-hmm…
Riddick: Your husband, is he a jealous man? Cause I used to be a jealous man.
Me: Oh no. Not at all.
Riddick: Because we don’t do this thing if your husband isn’t okay with this.
Me: I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s very open-minded.
And at last Hec sidles up, having had a “You Didn’t Believe Me When I Told You They Were Swingers and Now You Must Pay” Intervention timetable.
Anticlimax: We made our excuses and I finally got to pee… although…
I heard Hec exclaim as we walked out of sight,
“Have a great evening; too bad you didn’t get to smash out my wife!”
