This manitee is single, and like the patrons on Friday night's Singlorama it probably will be for quite some time.
Friday nights in Oslo invariably present you with several options. More often than not we are spoilt for choice. I received, however, no such luck last Friday. My alternatives were: stay at home and wank myself into a coma OR attend a single’s party with Massevis. Of course it goes without saying that there are few people with whom I would rather spend an evening, but on the flip side there are few things I can imagine worse than a single’s party. With my optimism in hand, Massevis and I started quaffing our evening’s fuel.
The single’s party was being held down the road at some female Massevis was trying to crack. His motive was clear. Mine on the other hand, was proving to be elusive. I could either go all out as the raging queer that I am and befriend all the bender-loving girls in an attempt to infuriate all the desperate males, or I could masquerade as a breeder and finally acheive what my father and his father before him have – fornicate with the opposite gender. Both options seemed equally pointless.
After about an hour of me drinking and Massevis using his stomach as a cocktail shaker we set off to find the party. We were greeted by Massevis’ prospective female. I won’t tell you her name, because I can’t remember it. On entering we were met by a sea of utterly dismal individuals. The term “single’s party” had indeed lived upto its name. I fear I had been a tad naive in thinking the motivation was one of “let’s throw a party without all our soppy loved-up friends” and not “let’s throw a party because we’re a bunch of saddos and the best possible way to put an end to this is by cramming as many saddos as possible into a small flat”. Nevertheless, we were now here and the thought of waking up with a sore wrist and friction burns on both palm and penis motivated me to at least try to have a good time.
We parked our booze in the fridge and sat down on the setee. Massevis immediately honed in on two fertile young specimens sat in the corner of the sofa. With his arse planted firmly on the couch they were trapped and fell victim to his chat. Luckily there was a space next to Massevis and without it I would have had to spend the evening perched on the arm of the sofa like some attention-starved budgie. My lack of contribution to their converstion forced me to introduce myself to a nearby chap who reciprocated my approach by compensatingly crushing my knuckles with his fist. Social dead end there, clearly.
My impatience grew, and not wanting to cramp Massevis’ style, I withdrew to the balcony to smoke a trademark spitty roll-up. I was shortly joined by another tobacco slave. A woman. The details of our converstion were about as interesting as a horse, so I was releaved when a third nicotard entered the designated smoking section. A man. Finally an opportunity to see courtship close up and in the flesh. Though with three minutes of their exchange locked inside my brain I realised there would be no close-ups or flesh involved between them. At least not that night.
Eventually the unavoidable visit to the lavatory was what faced me. Or rather, what faced me was a small corridor with the woman from the balcony and total silence. I was crying internally. From the queue of no more than two I could see Massevis still wooing in the comfy setting of the living-room. The sheer intensity of his voice like the warbling of a howler monkey was enough to scare off any other hopefull suiters. Most of them seemed too dedicated to their strategy of impressing girls with their choice of dated dance tracks on Spotify anyway.
I flushed the toilet, looked briefly in the mirror and concluded that my moustache and I had better things to do on a Friday evening that pretend to enjoy ourselves in an apartment occupied by beings that more closey resemble marine wildlife than humans. After lying to the host about what a great time I was having, I threw my coat over my back and quickly made my escape, menatlly wishing everyone still there the best of luck with their deformed future babies.
