You never know what strange turns real life will take. That's why you'll always need a back-up plan if things go south. Secure that early exit.
After some tax-deductible food and drinks, Adam and I took a stroll among the streets of Santa Monica.
"Where to now, G?" he asked.
"I'm not sure. I mean, since we're pretending to be gay, maybe we should go to Chick-Fil-A, where they pretend to be good Christians," I suggested.
Sorry, I don't mean to get political, so in the interest of even time, here's a picture of Sarah Palin (that Adam and I mutually masturbated to earlier in the evening).
But instead, we just kept walking on. Eventually, the conversation turned awkward, each of us consumed with a gay lust that we did not feel. I took Adam's hand and pulled him into an alley. (They have alleys in Santa Monica, right? Yeah, I pulled him into an alley.)
"Dude," Adam exclaimed. "I don't think we really have to commit to this. We had some dinner. You're writing an article about it. I mean, we don't really have to have actual gay sex to facilitate your tax fraud!"
And although his mouth said no, his hands (which I'd cuffed while he was discussing the finer points of tax law) said yes. Well, they didn't really say yes, so much as they made wild "I don't want to be raped" gesticulations.
But just in the nick of time, Adam said, "Oh, wait, I just remembered!!! I promised Jack that I'd feed Cody tonight. My turn to walk him, too."
And when I say just in the nick of time, I don't mean prior to criminal alley sex. I mean, Adam stopped me before I wrote a rape joke into one of my columns. Close call. (Probably why he's an editor.)
So now you've met, dined and had sex (or came close in a Santa Monica alley), but how do you end the encounter? Real life is not like the Internet. You can't just say BRB and then never return. You have to do it right because you might be forced to speak again. What if one of you gets diagnosed with a venereal disease? (Always a possibility with Adam.) You'll have to make that awkward call where you notify former sex partners. Or what if one of you is pregnant? (Again, totally possible with Adam. Do you know he has a birthing gill directly below his third superfluous nipple?) So whether or not you had a good time, you need to be polite and cordial.
Picture from Adam's first delivery. Here, the doctor listens for the sound of Adam's offspring shedding its pig tail before birthing.
"Well, Adam," I said. "Thank you for a magical evening. Spending some time with you in person has been illuminating. Mostly in the sense that I now have a better understanding of why you're incapable of being funny."
"It was nice to see you, too, Marion," he said, using a name that is no way my actual name.
"You know, that's not my name, right, Adam?" I asked.
"I know," he said. "But I call you that because ..."
Adam never finished the sentence. It was at that moment that I removed his head from his body with a giant machete I had fastened to my junk and worn down the side of my pant leg all night. See, I had bought it at a bodega outside of LAX, and I needed to write a column about it so I could deduct the purchase in my taxes as a business expense. Coming next week: 5 Things You Can Murder With a Machete.
When not murdering people with a machete, Gladstone is at work on a new season of HATE BY NUMBERS. Also, be sure to follow Gladstone on Twitter and stay up-to-date on the latest regarding Notes from the Internet Apocalypse. And then there's his website and Tumblr, too.
For more from Gladstone, check out The 9 Most Likely Reasons You've Been Unfollowed on Twitter and 30 Harrowing Days in Rehab for Facebook Addiction.