Now there is fully nothing sweeter to these ears than praise from happy women. But this praise was fully fake, and hearing it was, like, like eating a photo of a jellyroll. And though I love some jellyroll I fully need the real thing: fuck similes.
But the glowing squirming excellence and extremities of my slippery seatful of the chicks Dixie and Warpaint totally notwithstanding, they were making me uncomfortable. If they’d praise anything I did then none of that praise meant anything.
So I stood up, which is not something that can at all actually be done in the front seat even of a Chevrolet that was fully the size of one of the Gilbert Islands, and I reached for my underpants. “There is nothing at all, chicks, that I could do wrong, is there?”
They all looked up at me, open-mouthed and shook their heads slowly, like beautiful laughing clowns. Theresa Warpaint was all, “No, you can’t be wrong, honey.”
And Natalie Dixie went, “Not in our eyes.”
So I stepped over onto the back seat and vaulted out of the car. And Stella Warpaint went, “Honey no, where you going? You can’t go. It can’t be the same without you.”
But I was fully, “Look, dudettes, you’re hot and all, hot on a solar hotness scale, and I know I’ll be waaaay sorry for this. But this must be my world, here, so I’m fully allowed to leave it, yeah?”
And I totally walked away. But the sight of their most woebegone faces stayed with me. So I turned back. The fish tank had disappeared but there was still a Chevy packed with naked Dixie Chicks and Warpaints, with fourteen nipples pointed at me and seven girl-faces looking fully big-eyed and sad.