So there's no chance for us now?
I had these grandiose ideas of returning to the US.... deflated over Australia and its women..
We'd agree to meet at a coffee shop, but you decided to meet me in the Grand Rapids airport, at 11:30 at night as a surprise.... and half cut. I pinched a dozen small bottles of airplane liquor when the attendants weren't looking, so we all had Irish coffees, until we were told to leave by security. Then on the way out your bestie started talking about how he loved you with all his heart but it wasn't a romantic love. He identified with Aunt Jemima, and he needed to fatten you up.
As he drops us off at my airbnb, he tells me... make the pancakes from scratch. Don't feed my white girl white people pancakes, then he speeds off humming the tune from Sanford and Sons in baritone, his huge left foot out the window, his toes curling and quivering like a wave to any passing pedestrian... like to say "smile, be happy, don't worry, breakfast is soon" except in Morse Toe Code... (pinky, index, big toe, pinky, pinky, pinky, coup de toe)
We pass out in a heap on top of the covers... I'm 65, have jet lag, low blood pressure from the coffee, and I couldn't handle mini Smirnoff shots at the same time.
My dick was totally asleep. You tried to rouse it but when the Kid Rock and Ted Nugent lyrics did nothing, you dragged me into your minivan with mudders and took me and my dick two-tracking through Pisspot Place, where the natives burn tall piles of old semi trailer tires in effigy of Moses Peterson... the first person to ever shoot a buck from inside a bedroom with a stray masturbatory load through a double glazed window at 500 feet.
Enter Sandman and Dirty Deeds were pumping on two opposing stereos... but they had the same generator running them. Seems the DJ'S spent everything they had building trunk boxes for their speakers but couldn't afford car stereos and amps after.
It didn't matter though... I was home... you and I were each other's next transient and for a spell partner.... and the kegs at the party were endless and stolen by a Mexican nephew of an old white brewery worker guy who married a chick called Cunny Flores.
He also acquired 3 cases of Ramen somehow....
So we drink, we eat, we laugh, we fart, we shit ourselves, we puke, then wash rinse repeat.
And we're like "this is bliss. Isn't this bliss really bliss?"
So we nod knowingly at each other... like when Fred Bear comes on the jukebox and there's only 7 people all night at a hole in the wall bar...
So, you can see.... your pancake pal wants you and me to settle down for 1-7 years.... I think it's fate.