All my hard work has paid off though, chaps. Got the big call recently--Air Canada Jazz! Hoo boy, I did a stompin' two-step once I hung up the phone, wiped the peanut butter on my fingers down the front of my wife-beater and grabbed my coat to go to the mall. It was suit-buyin' time!
The salesman in Jack Fraser was more than a little impressed with my bravado as I strutted around the store seeking the perfect rig for my little chat with the majors. I dazzled him with stories from the road; conquests, encounters, amazing achievements--I had quite an audience. Pulling on a skin-tight pair of size 32 slacks (aqua blue, with just a hint of morning shine glinting off the polyester) I explained the lure of the mullet, and how it had helped me bag tons of high quality babes over the years. The salesgirl behind the counter stared at my polyester package and swooned as I swung my hiney in her direction, my dreamy eyes locking with her. My fingers fluttered up to my nipples and pinched gently as I observed her reaction. She turned away quickly and retched--the poor girl didn't have the stomach for a man like this!
I finally decided on a snug pair of powder blue, pinstriped pants with matching belt, a black, shiny shirt (does double duty for the post-interview celeb in the club, chaps...take notes here ) with the matching powder blue suit jacket. If you guys have a set of glutes like this kid, do as I do: get the vented jacket so you can have the goods on display when you lean up against the counters. (You're welcome!)
I clutched my purchase and walked around the mall in search of more loot. I was going to the big show--rumour on the street is these AC boys make some pretty heavy coin--upwards of 35 G's a year by last check. Livin' in mom's basement, making the heavy dough equaled a pretty swanky lifestyle for this gigilo. Nice. Sidling up to the Tim Horton's counter, I relayed this little timbit to the elderly lady manning the register. Maybe she had a daughter who was looking to be set for life! I left my digits, and flipped her a loonie as a tip. It's okay, Grandma...I can afford it, doll!
By the end of the day, I had a cart-load of cologne, hair products, tight fitting underpants and cowboy-boot polish. Sure, it cost a bit. No matter, I'd be in the big money soon enough!
That night I took all my beeyatches out to the Lone Star for some hardcore pre-interview Mexican feasting. All my brethern were there: I am Birdog, Beechball, Sulako, Cat Driver, Doc....the list goes on. They also brought some big, funny looking fella named Hazatude. He eyeballed me a bit, and for a second there I thought I was going to have to drop the fajitas and dance a bit, but he calmed down once Birdog whispered the deal into his ear.
"That's right, cupcake", I announced. "This is an hombre you don't want to tango with!" Just to make sure he got the message, I gave him something to think about. Call it a Lone Star Lesson.
First, I pointed at him, then me....slowly. Nodding. Smiling like a James Bond villain.
Then I took a tortilla chip and held it up....and snapped it in half. It was really intimidating. If you were there, you would have been scared.
He looked pretty nervous and mumbled something, (sounded like "sorry, sir") and crammed a quesadilla into his mouth before getting into any more trouble.
Oh fellows, this was my night! I was giddy in the spinning lights of the restaurant, and surrounded with the high pitched girlish squeals of Doc and the Cat Driver. The mullet flowed in the breeze from the ceiling fans--with it freshly feathered and hairsprayed I felt like a peacock! The meal was delicious, and I helped myself to seconds of mounds of refried beans and guzzled beer. Birdog at one point told me to go easy on the beans--and got a quick flurry of punches to the forehead as a response. Down he went face-first into his plate of nachos, and the crowd roared it's approval! I was on fire!
I excused myself hours later, as I had to show these young lads how to be responsible. I had a career-changing mountain to climb tomorrow at 9 o'clock sharp, and I wasn't about to blow it now! I stumbled out of the bar at the reasonable hour of 2am, jumped into my car and drove home as fast as I could, racing through red lights to get home as quick as possible to get some shuteye for the big day.
.....to be continued....
NARRATOR: join us next time, as Henri suits up for his big day, and runs a clinic on how to go through the challenging interview process at Air Canada Jazz!
Not to be confused with Springjob, Handjob, Blowjob or any other job......except a flyingjob!