Faux Friday, Fools

It's a bird! It's a plane! No, it's sumo-sized SuperKreme and his bi-lovin' Lois Lane, cold-kickin' it at the fauxShow

"I know," I reply. "Problem with getting a kiss like that is it leaves you wanting more. Think I have a chance of wooing her?"

"About the same chance of Britney fitting her fanny into a size 6," snorts the Jettster into my ear, back from the bar, drink in hand. "Baby or no baby. Stick a fork in her. She's done. And you, Kreme, might as well stick to spankin' it."

"So, uh, where's my drink?" I ask.

"You didn't ask for one," she shrugs, suckin' down her vodka-tonic like she's Katie Rose on a bender. "But the tab's runnin' if you wanna go catch it."

I grumble up to the bar, and score a pint of Framboise Lambic, that raspberry Belgian brew that the Alley has on tap. A little more expensive, but worth it. I down a Jaeger shot with the Lambic as a chaser, and start to head back to where I'd left the Jettster. That's when I bump into this classy, well-spoken dime with straight, blond hair, who's dressed in a wife-beater and sexy, boyish boxers. Something about her reminds me of a young Meryl Streep. She tells me her name is Tess.

"Like that novel Tess of the d'Urbervilles?" I ask.

"That's what I was named after!" she exclaims.

"That's an uncommon name these days," I remark. "Are you a student?"

"Yeah, at ASU," she replies.

"What year?" I query.

"I should've been a senior last year, but technically I'm a junior now, in the program I'm in," she admits.

"Stretch it out as long as possible," I advise. "The so-called real world sucks donkey, and I ain't talkin' about the MTV show."

"Not that you have a bad real-world experience; you work for the New Times," she says. "I love you guys!"

"Gee, thanks," I tell her. "It's not too bad when my partner's behaving herself. By the way, you haven't seen a thin, dark-haired boozebag around, have you?"

Tess doesn't seem to have heard me, as we're standing right beside a speaker, and the music has just been cranked a notch. But I do spy my Missy Misdemeanor over on the other side of the bar, in a section of the Alley where the pool tables sit. Of course, Señorita Hot Pants is chatting up a gorgeous gal, a curvaceous goddess with platinum blond hair by the name of Josie Monroe. Josie has a sort of '50s pinup-girl thing going on. It would be easy to see her posing in front of a '57 Chevy for some retro hot rod mag.

"You're like the reincarnation of Marilyn," gushes the Jettster.

"Oh, stop it, you're making me blush," she tuts. "My father is a plastic surgeon, and he'd love to hear that. I've never been worked on."

"Your skin's so white," the Jettster coos. "Like ivory."

"I can't even go out during the day, I'm like a vampire," she states, puffing on a ciggie.

"You're not one of those roller derby gals, are you?" I inquire, butting in.

"Oh, no, I bruise too easy, and I'm not tough," she claims. "I'm such a girly-girl. I could never do roller derby."

"Jett wants to do roller derby," I snark. "She'd do a whole team, if they're willing."

"Excuse us a minute," says Jett, pulling me aside. "You know what cock-blocking is, Kreme? Right now, dood, you're coochie-blocking."

"Is that something liquid Drano can help you with?" I reply.

By now, Josie's getting another ciggie lit by some bar stud, and Jett, disgusted, decides to grab another beverage. I cool my heels near the dance floor, where I strike up a confab with this tall dude with jumbo-pierced earlobes named Chris X. Seems the X-man is a professional piercer for HTC Body Piercing, which has locations in Phoenix and Tempe. Says he's been doing it for six years.

"Where's the wildest place you've ever pierced someone?" I inquire.

"Name it," he says.

"Um, the anus," I say.

"Close," he hints.

"The taint?" I try again.

He laughs, nodding his head. "Yep, both male and female."

"Ouch," I grimace. "On the other hand, you prolly get to see some nice stuff if it's a babe."

"It's like a doctor looking at a body, really," he claims.

"Oh, come on, I don't buy that," I tell him.

"No, really, if you'd done it for six years, you'd feel the same," he sighs. "The first year, it's pretty cool. Then five years after that, it's just work."

"I've heard you guys get laid a lot, that chicks wanna get with you so they can get free work done," I relate.

"Sometimes," he smiles knowingly. "But not in all cases. That's up to the piercer's discretion, obviously."

Jett stumbles into the confab, new drink in hand.

"So what're we talkin' about?" she wonders.

"Taint piercing," I inform the PHX's Juliya Chernetsky (you know, the Fuse metal chick).

"If it ain't piercing, I'm fine with that," she responds. "How's a gal supposed to get through metal detectors with all that chrome in her bod? I'll just stick to tats, thankyouverymuch."

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