We're drinking in the back of the tremendously crowded bar on Route 46, and the place is overflowing with women and the spattering of guidos that follows the former around like dogs.
I met an old friend of mine from my blue collar days here, along with the broad he hates but bangs anyway. He looks like he just got out of work- torn up jeans, work boots, a long sleeved t-shirt with holes by the elbows. Me? I wore what I wore all day- a pimpin' collared shirt, nice jeans, actual shoes.
He starts breaking my balls about it instantly, "Look at you all suave and shit. And your damn hair never moves, how the fuck do you do that?"
His girl-whatever... is eyeing me the whole night. Later on she'll smack him and point to me, saying the words that no woman has ever said in reference to me: "Why can't you dress more like him?"
HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA. VICTORY! NO MORE "SCRUFFY" HERE!
He looks at me, shakes his head. "I'm losin' faith in you dude."
Yea, but your girl sure ain't.
Again, I rule.