Page 23 of The Fed Sex Man

“I’m drawing a blank.” He touched his product infused hair as if to make sure it was still there. “Compare her to one of our cheerleaders.”

“A fucking cheerleader?” I glared at him. He should have known better. “Really?”

“Sorry, Bro. I wasn’t thinking. Compare her to someone else.”

“Cameron Diaz.”

“The actress?”

“Yeah. She’s tall-ish, and thin.”

“Tall and thin? She’s a puker for sure.”

“She’s not bulimic. She’s naturally thin.”

His brows raised. “Does she have wrinkled up titties? Pukers have shriveled up titties, that’s one way you can tell.”

“No, they’re not wrinkled,” I said. “They’re just small.”

“Describe ‘em.”

“Average sized. C-cup. A small C-cup.”

He swung his right hand into a large arc. “Does she have a big fat ass?”

“No. She’s pretty average in the ass department.”

“Skinny chick with no tits, no ass, and she pukes a lot. I’d drop that bitch before this even gets off the ground.”

“She puked once.”

“Dude, you’ve only been on one fuckin’ date,” he complained. “Look at it this way, she’s puked on one hundred percent of the dates you’ve been on. That’s terrible odds.”

“Whatever.”

“Does she wear purple lipstick?”

I spit out a laugh. “No. It’s normal colored. Lip colored. Pinkish-red.”

He turned away in dramatic fashion, walked to the rear of the car, and paused. “What if that motherfucker puked every time you went out? From nerves or whatever the fuck she told you? Then what? Lipstick notes on the bathroom walls and straitjackets, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“Garber,” I said.

His eyes widened. “What about her?”

“She looks like Garber.”

He faced me. “The librarian?”

“Yep.”

He strolled toward me, stopping no more than an arm’s length away. “Looks like her a little bit, or looks like her a lot?”

I shrugged. “Could be her twin.”

After studying me for a few seconds, he scoffed and turned away. “Bullshit.”

“I’m serious. She could be her twin,” I insisted. “She looks just like her.”