I approached you three and urged you to touch my chest.
The t-shirt I wore bore the image of a long-lost friend. I thought he could bring us together. I thought his tragic extinction could, somehow, make us friends.
Like the demon dog Cerebrus at the gates of Hades, your three heads prevented me from escaping— my loneliness, my sadness for an expired friend, gone before his time. His kind no longer walks this earth.
I never even met him.
As you could surely tell, silly girls, my garment is emblazoned with the likeness of a proud Triceratops.
Had you accepted my magnanimous offer, you would have laid your hand upon the flesh of a living dinosaur, a proposition so beautiful, I often weep whilst thinking on it. Yes, this garment, being of exceptional worth and goodness is so designed with a most peculiar texture so as to provide said sensation near equal to the scaly hide of the Triceratops himself.
After rudely conferring as I obligingly stood by, your collective stupidity was unmistakable.
"We'll pass."
Are you, mildly attractive and seemingly unaccompanied females so jaded that you can not accept my gesture of friendship? Perhaps you've mistaken my attempt at discourse for a paltry sexual advance, a notion I scoff at.
My scoff complete, you should know I would buy you a drink, were I attempting to woo any node of your shallow and witless hive-mind.
One of you looks familiar, but you're maybe a 4. But the other two, you guys aren't bad looking. Enough of all the flowery language. I am writing to you girls to apologize.
I'm sorry you're too cool to touch my t-shirt, that feels like you're really petting a Triceratops, that I got in Disney World. It's awesome.
And also, my girlfriend is significantly hotter and cooler than you; she's got you beat in both temperature zones. You guys are just kind of jerks.
10 hours ago
