This garish lilac set is violating my retinas. This stool isn’t particularly comfortable either. God, this is the last time I agree to anything whilst drunk.
“So, Sean, tell us a bit about yourself.”
What do I say? Am I supposed to tell the truth here? I suppose it couldn’t hurt, I mean, these women are presumably already locked into some legally binding contract. I’m guaranteed a date with whoever I choose. So it makes no difference what I say. I don’t even need to sound attractive. Alright. Blunt truth it is.
“Well, Cilla, I’m a 20 year old university student with mediocre facial hair, but aspirations of growing a majestic beard someday. I’m about 5’10”. I have hazel eyes and dark brown hair of varying length. I like metal music, video games and my favourite film is The Departed. I have a few tattoos and play bass guitar. That’s about it.”
“Oh. He sounds hot doesn’t he, audience?!”
Silence. Deathly fucking silence. Nobody is clapping. Nobody. Just the distant rustling of crisp packets. This is pretty embarrassing. Oh. HAHA. Well done, Ironic Wolf Whistle Guy. Prick.
“Alright, Sean. We’re going to bring out three lovely ladies and sit them behind that screen so you can’t see them. We’ll tell you a bit about each of them, then you pick your favourite! Okay, let’s meet the first of the girls you might be going home with tonight.”
“Welcome, Celsa Doyon! Celsa is blonde and in her early twenties. She wears sunglasses and a red bikini and describes herself as a “dirty posh girl”. She “loves the thought of people watching her fuck” and she blows “like there’s no tomorrow”. What do you think, Sean? Is Celsa the kind of girl you see yourself having a future with?”
Jesus Christ. That was a bit full on. What do I say to that? The audience is certainly happy. Look at them. Clapping like fucking seals. She must be hot, this girl. What’s her name? Celsa. Yeah. She must be hot. Celsa is a nice name. I like blondes too, I suppose. Bikinis are nice. So are sunglasses. Sometimes. She doesn’t wear them all the time, does she? That’d be weird. It’d be nice if she’s wearing them now. Wait. Would it? A girl who wears that little in front of a live studio audience is probably a bit slutty. But maybe she’s just confident. She must be pretty hot to think she can get away with that. I don’t know. Whatever. What else did she say? Right. Yeah. Dirty posh girl. I’m a working class guy, the archetypal ‘dirty posh girl’ is pretty appealing to me. It’s the upper class sentiment with the undercurrent of uncleanliness that does it. I mean, she might wear a tiara and a ball gown, but once they come off and she solidly declares she needs to shit on my chest, I know she’s just as filthy as the rest of us. But do I really want a girl to shit on my chest? I’m not sure. I don’t think so. But maybe she’s really nice. Could I say no? I don’t know. What else? Oh, she likes giving blow jobs. No, no, she “blows like there’s no tomorrow”. That, that’s weird. The expression “like there’s no tomorrow” puzzles me. Perhaps it’s my lackadaisical temperament, but if there was no tomorrow every activity would be completed with a staggering lack of effort. I’d be fuckin’ reckless is what I’d be. And there is nothing fun about reckless blow jobs. Allowing your genitalia near anything with teeth is dangerous. Doubly so when those teeth are behaving “like there’s no tomorrow”. No thank you. It’s weird, usually blow jobs appeal to me. Maybe it’s just her wording that’s wrong. She probably gives great blow jobs. But do I want to date a girl that isn’t good with words? I suppose not everyone can be as lexically endowed as me. Stop it. You’re overthinking this. Right. What else? What else did she say? Oh, she likes people watching her fuck. Right. That presumably means she likes people watching me fuck. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m fairly conservative about my sexual endeavours. And what if she’s monstrously ugly? I won’t know until they move that fucking screen out of the way. What if she wants people to watch us? People will see me having sex with a monster? God, what if they make us fuck, right now?! They’ll move the screen and make us fuck like jackrabbits on the stage with the studio audience clapping and whooping and oh God, oh God, oh God.
“So, Sean. Sean. What do you think of Celsa?”
“Errr. Yeah, she sounds nice.” I think I got away with that. Yeah. Totally nailed it.
“Okay, let’s meet your second potential date for this evening. Welcome, Monnie Willars! Monnie is a brunette who loves walks on the beach. She wears a blue bikini and a gold bracelet and thinks you should “TELL THEM WHAT THEY WANT TO HEAR. THEN DO WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT”. What do you think, Sean? Do you like the sound of Monnie?”
Fucking Hell. Where do they find these women? She sounds angry. The audience are happy though. They’re always happy. I hate them. Right. What do I think? What do I think? Think, Sean, think. You are thinking. You’re thinking about thinking. Shut up. Focus. Think. Right. Monnie. That’s another nice name. She’s a brunette. I like brunettes. I like them more than blondes. Sometimes. It depends. Green bikini? No. Blue bikini. Hmm. I like red bikinis more than blue bikinis. I don’t really like blue at all. I’m not sure why. I like Raphael more than Leonardo. Maybe that’s it. God, I haven’t seen the Turtles in so long. God, and Power Rangers too. I always preferred Jason to, what was the blue ranger called? Bill? Whatever. I like Jason. I’m off track again. What else? Bracelet? Gold bracelet. I don’t know a lot about jewellery. I’m sure it’s lovely. Alright. What was that last bit? TELL THEM WHAT THEY WANT TO HEAR THEN DO WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT? Well. Erm. Yeah. Not sure how I feel about that. I suppose that’s good advice. Is it? No, it’s not. I don’t know. It’s not really the kind of thing you want to tell a potential suitor though. I can’t imagine that attitude being welcome in a domestic environment. She’s basically a liar. She’s a liar is what she is. I don’t like liars. God, what a bitch. SUCH a bitch. I don’t like her at all. You can’t just go around doing whatever you want in life. That’s selfish. You can’t just tell everyone what they want to hear. Or can you? Maybe that’s what I need to hear? Maybe I need to stop striving for the truth. Maybe I need someone in my life to tell me what I want to hear, to boost my ego. That might be good for me. What is it I want to hear? I don’t even know. Maybe that’s what she’s doing now? Telling me what I want to hear. Maybe this is some elaborate psychological ploy to get me to pick her. Ooo, maybe she’s a psychologist. Maybe she’s a doctor. A sexy sexy doctor. No. NO. She’s a trickster is what she is. A trickster liar. Fuck her. No. I won’t fall for her little game. No way. I’m better than that. I know what you’re up to, Mollie. Or whatever the fuck your name is.
“I’m not so sure about Mollie, Cilla.”
“Right. Sorry Monnie. I think I prefer Celsa.” Ha. HA. Take that you lying bitch. I’d rather have shit on my chest than be lied to everyday of my life.
“Oh. Sorry, Monnie. It looks like blondes do have more fun.”
That’s not what I said. Christ. This show is awful.
“Okay, Sean. Let’s meet your third and final potential date for tonight. Welcome, Carmelina Abigg! Carm is a blonde in her early twenties who favours a classic look, wearing a white crop top with jeans. She says of herself “I’m having sex in the moon next summer”. How does that grab you, Sean? Do you like Carmelina?”
Semolina. Semolina. All I can think is semolina. I don’t even LIKE semolina. Semolina. Carmelina. What do I think of Carmelina? She wears jeans and a crop top. That’s good. She’s somewhat more conservative than the others. But she still shows a bit of skin. I like skin. Semolina has skin, if you leave it out too long. Stop it. Carmelina. What else? What was her last name? Abigg? What the fuck kind of a name is Abigg? A big what? A big dick?! Is she a transsexual? Jesus. I never agreed to this. Stop it. You’re being irrational. She probably doesn’t even have a big penis. She probably doesn’t have a penis at all. Though that would explain why she’s wearing jeans and not a bikini like the rest. Oh God. She does have a cock. Stop it. She doesn’t have a cock. What else? What else? Something about the moon? She’s having sex on the moon? No. No. IN the moon. She’s having sex in the moon. Next summer. What? What the fuck does that even mean? That makes no sense. English can’t be her first language. She must be foreign. Ooo, maybe she’s all exotic and sexy. Maybe she’s Spanish. Or French. I’d like to have sex in the moon with a French girl. But maybe she’s, like, Russian or something. Maybe she’s really, really hairy. She’s got a hairy cock. Oh, God. This is horrible. Horrible.
“Well, Sean. You’ve heard from all of your potential dates for tonight. The question is, who do you want to take home? Celsa, the gorgeous blonde who blows like there’s no tomorrow? Monnie, the sultry brunette who does what the fuck she wants? Or Carmelina, who’s having sex in the moon?”
Oh God. The audience are shouting. They’re all chanting different names. Celsa, Mollie and Semolina. Who do I choose? The first wants to shit on my chest, the second is a compulsive liar and the third has a penis. I don’t know what to do. Shit. Lies. Penis. Shit. Lies. Penis. It’s got to be the lies hasn’t it? The lying brunette with the blue bikini. It has to be. Oh, God I’m going to regret this aren’t I? I’m never getting drunk again.
“Okay, Cilla. I’ve thought about it. And. I – I – I think. I think it’s Moll – Monnie. I think it’s Monnie.”
“Okay, gang. Let’s move the screen and show Sean who he’s taking out tonight!”
The audience are clapping and cheering. The screen’s moving. I’m going to see her. I’m actually quite excited. I hope she’s really nice. I hope sh – What? There’s nobody there. What the fuck? What’s this? A link to a porn site?
That lying bitch. I should’ve gone for the shit on the chest.