40. When I drunkenly criticize her jukebox selections?
Here’s a modified neg, only with more fondling. You load your dollars into the jukebox, and if you’re lucky, it’s not just one of those internet jukeboxes that download whatever song you want. (The whole pleasure of the jukebox is scarcity.) She sidles up next to you and you say Pick some, go ahead and you lean in over the volume to see what she’s going to choose. Really, U2?
She’ll punch you on the shoulder and tell you to shut the fuck up, she still likes “Pride (In the name of love)” and also Phil Collins. You aren’t standing too well and then wheel around and start yelling to the other patrons, “Excuse me, did you play U2? Oh you didn’t? Because they’re crap, that’s why!”
Best case flirt scenario: she will buy you another round to repay her musical debt and be on her way. Worst? She offers you a prolonged and sloppydrunk blowjob, under her Bono poster.
