friday lunch date with dean martin...

its been a toothy blow job of aweek. so i figured who cheers me up more than my old friend dean martin. every now and then well grab lunch (a bottle of whiskey and an erotic massage). the following is how we passed yet another friday.

{setting: local cafe/dining establishment (with full service bar of course)}

me: so dino, what's new with you?

dino: who do i have to tell that I'm dean martin around here to get a drink?

{collectively pull out flasks and take pulls}

me: beats me dino, but ill tell you one thing, that hostess has got quite the dumpster on her.

dino: i hear ya daddy, I'd spend a nights earnings in atlantic city to get up in her old italian villa.

me: really? I'd probably just get piss drunk and tell her she's got a bangin' rack.

dino: there you go again you old so and so. just running your old flap trap, thinking your ol' charm and 3 inch dictator will get you some jane fonda ass.

me: well, if ill let anyone talk to me that way its you. you bing crosby wannabe cockchugger.

dino: well played bubbala. where in the name of red skelton is our waitress!?
{snaps fingers, flashes cock}

waitress: can i get you gentleman something to drink?

dino: well take a bottle of your most expensive gin, a top hat full of stuffed olives, a bottle of ten high for my miserably hung, would-be jew gentleman friend here and whatever red headed hostess who works here that is married.

waitress: excuse me sir?

dino: {begins singing 'everybody needs somebody' with a bottle of ketchup as a microphone}

waitress: oh! right away sir.

{all requests are promptly met}

me: i dunno dino? this firecrotched hostess doesnt seem to be lucille ball status.

dino: you can say that again daddy. I've seen more game on a marlon brandos boozongas than this red brick wall.

{red headed hostess walks away sobbing hysterically}

me: so what do you think about those patriots dino?

dino: ill tell you this much hep cat. i think that don shula cat has a got a real chance in this american football league racket.

me: don shula retired years ago you old croon-dog you.

dino: {breaks into own rendition of 'mambo italiano' (drinks immediately arrive)}

me: {consumes half bottle of ten high in one quaff} what was i saying? oh yeah, we should totally find some dime pieces to get down on tonight.

dino: {somehow engulfs entire bottle of gin and fornicates with non-lucille bal in her prime-waitress before either reaches the table} ill tell you what you old sunnvagun. joey bishop has some oriental broads over at his bungalow that will give you the "shanghai sundown" before we reach the wet bar.

me: I'm game

dino: the only problem is we would have to hang with joey bishop. ridin my coat tails for decades.

me: yeah. fuck that. {snorts other half bottle of ten high} what was is it like working with john wayne?

dino: don't let the stories fool you sonny boy. i could out drink the duke before happy hour hit, but I've never seen one man lose so many hands of black jack or eat so many humans and corned beef without remorse.

me: awesome. zach braff is a fag. hmm. where's our waitress?

dino: crappin out my 17th child in the breakroom i assume. what say you and me meet up with sammy jew jr. at the palms for some no-limits hooker hold em'?

me: can do. just let me run back into the office, masturbate in the bathroom on the clock and take a shit on my supervisors desk.

dino: already dropped a red fox size deuce-a-roo on fattys work station for ya cool cat.

me: you're the tits dino!

dino: i know, I'm dean martin, and you're my favorite drinking partner. now lets fly my bi-plane to sin city and tag team lauren bacall.

me: cash money daddy cats!!!

{collectively drink every bottle of liqour behind bar, plow all red headed waitresses and dino leaves gold brick and coupons to the golden nugget buffet at table}

yup, just another friday lunch break.