A little fun tonight prompted a pick-up line contest. The scene: your own best pick-up line story - 1st person, please.
My entry (apologies to Raymond Chandler):
She was a blond. The kind of blond to make a nuclear physicist kick-out a containment panel.
I walked to the bar and stood beside her. She was reading last month's Jane's Intelligence Review, in Russian, on her iPadsky.
I waved the barman over and ordered a drink - my usual. The barman stood there with a glass he was over-polishing and looked at me.
"Hey Buddy," he said. "Give a guy a break, will ya? Just what the hell is that?"
The blond answered the query without looking up.
"An Ivy Mike?," she husked. "It's a blast, baby. A thermonuclear blast. Make it two and put it on my tab. I think this fellow and I need to discuss a little - how do you say - detente?"
2 comments:
Nice! I could def. have fun w/this. :)
It's a great party game with a group of writers who have too much Scotch and too little sense.
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