When I walked into the Internet gaming cafe that I'd tricked Brooklyn into coming to, my heart skipped a beat. It does that sometimes. The doctors are baffled as to why, exactly, and my explanation -- that I'd taught my own heart to beat to the tune of Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer" -- did nothing to assuage their worries. Luckily, my lack of health insurance did that instead. When the blackness that forever lives at the edges of my vision receded, I saw an angel standing uncertainly between two chubby Koreans swearing at computer screens.
"I like my coffee like I like my women," I said, sidling up to her.
"I don't like where this is going," she answered instantly. God, she was sharp. She saw it coming early, and if her ass kept bouncing around nervously like that, she'd see something else coming early soon enough.
"Full of my own semen," I suavely finished.
"Yep. That was it," Brooklyn answered, then stomped her way out of the double doors at GameBryoz, and my heart, forever.
That was weird. That went exactly like every other date I've ever had with a normal. Are these "Internetizens" just as shockingly prude and standards-having as real people? No, no surely that can't be the case. I've seen the Internet. It's terrible. So it might just be this particular site; sure, it's the biggest, but maybe it's like the Playboy to hardcore pornography. And just like porn, I'm probably going to have to go to some weird, shameful, possibly illegal places before I get my rocks off. Somewhere like ...