They Call Me Bae

     
In the random insanity that is my life, many strange things happen. I don’t know if this is due to divine retribution, karma, or just random chance, but I don’t ever remember having ass raped a nun. If nothing else, life sure is interesting. Take, for example, a text message that I received the other night:

Incoming Text: Hey bae

Now, I know you are desperately wondering, as was I, what exactly, and I mean what the fuck, exactly, is a bae? Is it a typo? Is it slang? Does it mean babe? Is it just ignorance, shining through? Whatever. It doesn’t need to be that fucking deep.

Anyway, not recognizing the number, I respond back with a cool and suave:

Me: Who is this?

Incoming Text: You know who this is 

Actually, no, I don’t know who this is. This is why I’m asking. Allow me to explain, so that you may be enlightened.

Me: I just got this phone and you’re not in my contacts, so no, I don’t (know who you are).

Incoming Text: Remember u tittie fucked me ba 

Okay, this is something that I am 100% certain, that I would remember, unless… Maybe, it’s like sleepwalking, but with an added bonus (there is that whole sleep titty fucking phenomenon). Face it, though; you just can’t forget a spectacular pair of tits, even more so, a pair that you’ve just jewelry shopped, all over. I was even beginning to wonder if it was anyone that I knew, trying to screw with me, but no one with that area code had my number and none of the senior citizens that I know are still awake, at that hour. So, smooth as silk, I replied:

     Gentleman Me: I’m sure I would be able to remember that, but I don’t think I am the person you are looking for. This is my new phone and number. I just moved to Philly.

See? I’m all about being a gentleman and shit.

Incoming Text: What’s your first name?

Dumbass Me: Steve

Incoming Text: Ohhhh well hi Steve

Dumbass Me: Lmao. Hi.

Incoming Text: Steve what?

Incoming Text: ?

Giant Dumbass Me: Actually told her my last name.

I know, I know; what the hell was I thinking. Hey, it was late, I was tired and quite obviously, I wasn’t thinking. Look, evolution has provided men with two brains. Unfortunately, we only have enough blood, to run one at a time.

Incoming Text: You want to see my tits maybe they will refresh your memory

Old Pervert Me: Okay

Look, I’m just trying to be helpful, here. If a woman can’t fight the urge to show me her breasts, who am I, to try and stop her? Free tits is free tits. Sorry. It just is.

Incoming Text: Send me a pic of your face first.

Not Wanting to end up on To Catch a Predator Me: How old are you?

Send her a pic of my face? That, was so not going to happen. There are enough photos of me in compromising positions, with dwarves and llamas, than I care to admit. I have no further comment.

Incoming Text: 19

Not a Total Pervert Me: I am old enough to be your dad, lol.

Incoming Text: And you?
  Yeah? Well how old?

So Much for Seeing Some Titties Me: I am 48

Incoming Text: Sooo?

GTFO Me: Lmao

Incoming Text: idc

Seriously? This 19 year old girl/child/baby, just told me that she doesn’t care that I am almost 30 years older, than she is. I’m trying to do the right thing here, but if you’re going to shove them in my face, I’m going to motorboat them.
ADDED BONUS! She could be a hooker, or a crackhead, but then again, that would be so 90’s. Is retro still cool?

Time to Shut This Down Me: What’s your name?

Incoming Text: Kodilla

Kodilla? WTF? Seriously? I can’t even begin to guess at what her parents might have been aiming for, with that one. Godzilla? Gorilla? Mozilla? That shit is completely made up. Who does that, to a child? I’m officially in the Twilight Zone, at this point.

Model Citizen Me: I’m sure your tits are spectacular.

Let me know, if you get the reference.

The next thing that I was going to type was a thanks, but no thanks line. As much as I’m flattered at the thought of some dumbass kid wanting to show me her boobs, but two in the hand, certainly isn’t the same as one in the bush. Besides, it just made me feel creepy, like the guy in the white panel van that always promised me free candy. You can fool me five or six times, but that’s not a candy bar, mister.