Tuesday afternoon. Still sitting here processing last night. Wow, what was that?
Okay, this guy apparently cares about his “privacy,” and I’m here to tell you he just fucked up big time. No. You don’t get that with me unless you earn it. You can’t be in a bar paying my tab with a black card and following me home so you can laugh at my “small, modest apartment” (it’s an expensive high-rise loft) and then sit all proper and fancy and act all mysterious like James Bond and then leave in a car service me expect me not to write about this live on the internet where anyone can see.
What was that?
Whirlwind surprise.
One minute I’m stewing at the bar over this asshole British Guy, and the next minute I’m being swept away by some hot rich Irish beefcake dressed all in black who may or may not be some kind of gangster.
Is this a movie? This is a movie. This is some next level shit. I can’t even.
I could not make this shit up if I tried. I could not. This is insanity.
I… what?
What was that?
Who was that?
Who was that?!
Wow!
I hope we get a sequel to this Monday Night Special Feature. Good news: the pilot has cleared the test audience and they want more! Give us the whole series, James. Should I call you James? Or do you prefer Alexander the Great?
Hahahaha.
Wow, who was that?
British Guy who? Oh, he’s gone. We sent him off to the Island of Lost Guys. So long! Goodbye! Have a nice life with your Thai hairdresser! I’ll be over here with Mr. Young Money Millionaire and his black card and car service, lol.
Hahaha.
What was that?!
It’s a movie. I love it. So many ideas could just spawn right from here. I could never see this guy again and I could write a whole movie about it right now. That’s the catch with me. If you avoid me, I write about you. If you stick around and bang me, I’ll be too busy taking a nap to write anything at all.
Okay, I was wrong in my last post. He said he is a Capricorn.
Yes, now I remember clearly. This is how I picked him up.
I said, “Oh, you’re a Capricorn. You must be very organized. Would you like to schedule sex with me every night for the next month that I’m here in Bangkok?”
It worked. That line worked. It got him back here, lol. #ScorpioSeasonPower
Sadly, he chickened out last minute, just like the Rooster he is.
And now here we are. I’m writing a story about him on my blog, and he’s off at work doing his daily spy shit or whatever it is James Bond does when he’s not on a mission. Lots of boring paperwork, I imagine. Perhaps even cozying up to sexy American women at the bar? So on-brand. I am so here for it, y’all.
*immediately rips up all the stories about the British Guy, tosses them in the trash, sets the trashcan on fire, and immediately zeroes in on this very Roman-looking Irish Guy with a black card*
Hmm. I liked him a lot. So mysterious. This one is going to cause a problem for me. Somehow. I know it. He’s already gonna be Big Mad when he reads these posts about himself.
Why does the thought of that make me smile so wide and giggle like a little schoolgirl?
Seriously, though, what was that? Who was that?
Who was that?
*gets all dreamy and stares off into space*
Who was that?