Girlfriend Attempted: A strange day

I have gone to college to work on my Features assignment (that's "magazines" to you milk-drinkers out there). And I have achieved diddly-squat.

But there is hope. Magazines have an incredible and ingenious secondary function (much like midgets). They can be used to stare at people.

I lower my copy of "Blindspot" - a truly attrocious journal - and gaze at the blond on the other side of the library. She does not notice me. I grin and raise the journal once again.

I have just been to the gym, and I haven't masturbated in 5 days. I am feeling primed for action. The girl on the other table is sitting very still, because sharing her table is a strange man making funny sounds. I think he has tourettes. He is rummaging through a newspaper and quietly swearing. I sit on the edge of the seat, ready to defend the girl should this man prove violent.

"Bastards!" he mutters, sifting through the small pile of magazines he has collected. The girl keeps her head down. I hope she isn't ugly...

I often wonder if I'm a good-looking man. I know I'm pretty decent head-on and from the left. It's just my right side that lets me down. And my neck. And my nose. But fortunately it was raining on the way here, so I have spikey hair. I am also wearing glasses, which are a gamble in any given situation. I think I have a chance here...

"Cunts!" hisses the man, getting up and putting on his coat. He storms out, leaving the girl on her own next to his pile of magazines.

Now is my moment to strike...

I close my magazine and get up. I then walk over to her side of the journal area, replacing my copy of "Blindspot" under the "W" section. I then look around for another magazine, finding nothing, and turn to her table.

"Are these all yours?" I ask, nodding at the pile that angry-tourettes-boy left behind.

"Heh heh, no." she answers, her voice like wet toilet paper hiking in the Scottish Highlands.

"I was gonna say, that's pretty hardcore." I remark, crouching down to sift through the pile.

"Heh heh heh!"

She goes back to reading her book, and I pretend to consider each of the magazines on her table. Finally I take one and look up at her.

"Oh hi there, how you doing?" says the girl's friend, brushing past me and sitting down next to her.

Curses! Foiled again!

They begin chuntering at each other. I take a copy of the nearest journal - a weekly bird-enthusiast's magazine, and retreat to my table.

"WANKER!!!" screams a voice from the corridor.

I put my coat on. I am late for dinner and belittlement back home. As I cross the field on my shortcut to the house, two girls are climbing over the fence by the road. I wait politely and sexily for them to get over. But one of them is having trouble...

Should I help her? No... they'll think I'm a pervert...

Eventually, the two girls make it to the other side and squeak their thanks to me. I grunt in reply, somewhere between "Sure" and "Help me, I need sex!". My scrotum slams into the fence as I vault over it.

A few minutes later, on my approach into Mabe, I see another girl. She is sitting on the wet grass next to a field entrance. Maybe she's a rape victim? No, that's too much to hope for.

I get home and sit down for dinner. Sweet and Sour... somehow symbolic... My housemate finishes hers in a few mouthfuls and then spends the rest of the meal staring at my plate.

I then get an email from my friend Tom praising my work. That little hairy gnome of a man is responsible for my first erection of the day, God bless him.