Time Warp

I think I fell into a wormhole or something last night. I went to a wine bar with my Sands TT for a ladies night that provided us with free booze. As if I would pass anything like that up. Anyway as with most ladies' nights, there were maybe 5 chicks to each dude. What few dudes their were.

There were two of these there:

















They may not have been dressed as they were in 1978 when they prowled the singles bars for poon. But they were every bit as cartoonish and ridiculous. These cats had to be at least 55 and they were in full businessman regalia. Burberry trench. Check. Grey flannel suit deal. Check. Grey and jowly. Check.

They were posted up in a prime viewing area of the bar (which wasn't that big to start with) so that they can scope out all the hot young thangs that came in for free booze. Not long after the chicks got situated and sometimes not even, they'd pounce. They were close talkers who were in to touching the chicks they attempted to pick up. Myself included.

As I watched these two sad yet hysterical losers work the room, it occurred to me that they were playing the law of averages in their pursuit for way out of their league poon. I guess they figured that Ladies Nights attract young, broke and preferably drunken chicks and that their expense account asses could score just by dumb luck. If they kicked it to every chick that walked in, maybe, just maybe they'd run in to a chick who'd lower her standards enough to allow the geezers to ply her with liquor and possibly score them some ass.

Alas, it was not to be. When I left they were still in rotation alternately leering at and accosting chicks all over the bar. What turns you into a old guy who prowls bars trying to pick up chicks young enough to be their daughters? Overweening pride? Stupidity? Viagra?

Your thoughts?

Later.................