Look, it’s a simple equation: If X, then Y. If not X, then Z. Where X = Erin folding and packing Mike’s dress shirts, Y = Mike looking like a total stallion in Vegas, and Z = Mike looking like a wrinkled moron attending a middle school dance.
Motto for this weekend: WWRBD? (What would Robert Baratheon do?)
“Isn’t there some kind of shorter cab line for sexy people?”
“Yes Mike, it’s called booking a limo. Like I suggested.”
I’ll have one of your gin, cucumber and ginger coolers, but if at any point I start speaking with a lisp, I want you to smack me and bring me a Maker’s Mark on the rocks. Oh, and can you hold the agave nectar? And do you have some kind of diet club soda you could substitute? You know what, you better just smack me now.
Let’s hang out at the topless pool and see . . . a bunch of fat, mole-covered, hairy-back-having old dudes gawking at girls who could be their daughters. Yech! Back to the craps table!
Hello, front desk? I was wondering if you have a senior citizen’s rate that you could apply to our room? I’ve just learned that we’ve somehow become old folks who can’t stay awake for a 10PM Cirque show. Or maybe that show was so bad that simply being in the theater aged me prematurely. Either way, I think that . . . zzzzz
Nothing says sexy bastard like tasting Bouchon’s delicately balanced white wine, saffron, and mustard sauce and then proceeding to bathe your beard in it.