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Date Posted: 00:10:32 01/05/05 Wed
Author: Waldo
Subject: Pre-quel I... "Dodgeball"

I’m sure this will come as a shocker to most of you, but I have a little neighborhood bar not from my house that I frequent. I always have, I guess, at least in the last several cities that called home. For some reason, each time I move, my bar in the old town closes its doors within the next few months. Surely I’m not THAT valuable a customer. I hope not, anyways – I wouldn’t want m’queen to blame me for the demise of Tony’s Lockeroom, an old haunt of mine just up the road from her. I’m sure she remembers it. Hell, I prob’ly bought her a beer there and tried to get into her panties once or twice.

Anyways, my current watering-hole (emphasis on “watering” as a literal description, as it’s more accurate these days than it would be in my previous faves) is the Park Centre Lounge, in Westminster, CO. It’s a pretty nice place, actually. Very much a neighborhood-bar kind-of feel to it, which is unusual in these northern suburbs of Denver – all the neighborhoods are essentially brand new, so there are no established neighborhood bars. Just Applebees and Chili’s and Lone Star’s and whatnot every where you turn around. But the PCL is my place, catering to its regular crowd, which includes yours-truly.

It’s a decent-sized place, with a kitchen which cooks a great burger during lunch time and a pretty good one at dinner time too. Lunch is better for some reason – I told the owner so, who credits Gino the day-time cook. There are a couple of pool tables, a shuffleboard table (memories of the Midwest, m’friends), and the ever-popular Golden Tee all in the back room. In front, they have a DJ booth, a small dance floor, and karaoke seven (count ‘em – seven) nights a week. I guess this qualifies it as a karaoke bar, although I sort of refuse to call it that. I do sing when I go (there are a lot of very good singers there), but that isn’t really the reason I go. The show is run by the owner’s fiancé Mary, known to everyone as “Mary-oke.”

Some three years ago, I got a call on my cell phone from Tony, one of the guys who lived in the apartment below me. Tony and some of our mutual friends were havin a beer and a burger at the PCL and told me to come on down. That night was the very first night I set foot in the joint.

On that night four or five of us were whoopin it up, making fun of the karaoke regulars (sure enough, I eventually became one of them eventually, although it probly took a year), and all along checking out the women-folk in the place. At the table next to us was a rather pretty girl named Kim. She was a couple years younger than I, and apparently has just a hint of Latina in her, which I love, as you may or may not know.

I guess when I say pretty, I should clarify that she is pretty from the neck up. Or maybe even the boobs up (I love boobs). But as you move farther south, her shape gets a little irregular.

I would have trouble calling her fat, because she’s not, except for mebbe just one part of her. This girl has an ass that you could show a movie on.

At the drive-in.

Three towns over.

Seriously.

She took an immediate liking that night to one of the fellows at my table, Todd. Todd was without-a-doubt the GQ-type at our table (although probably not as good looking as he thinks he is, and carrying with him the personality of people who are not as good looking as they think they are). Of course we all flirted with her in spite of the junk (in her trunk). She was a little (maybe a lot) on the drunk side, took our leads quite seriously, and decided she should kiss Todd – who was sitting opposite her, one table over.

She got up, half-closed her eyes, and leaned in, all puckered up. I say half-closed her eyes, because Todd did everything to avoid the incoming, veering to one side – and she knew to change courses and follow. Todd went the other way – so did Kim. Todd spent the better part of a minute shimmying back and forth, up and down, side to side, avoiding this scud-missile with the never-give-up homing device and the huge ass. She eventually got the picture, sat down, and decided she hated us all. Boo hoo hoo.

M’friends, I have never seen anything so funny in my life. I retold the story the next day, and still retell it often – mimicking Todd in slow motion, moving in every direction – as if her were trying to avoid the “Dodgeball.” That is how I explained it the next day, and still do to this day. Which is how the handful of us assholes got to give her the nickname name Dodgeball.

Wouldn’t it be horrible if everyone in Westminster CO called her Dodgeball, on account an ol’ Waldo story they heard one time? Well, that’s what happened. And she has no idea it’s her nickname. But everyone else sure does.

I felt kind of bad about giving her a not-so-nice nickname that ended up sticking like Elmer’s. But at least I’d never have to talk to her about it. She hates me.

Or maybe….. she loves me???????????????

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