Gab-Dog was a pretty girl in a town that was known for its pretty girls. She worked at an Irish pub that inhabited the towns oldest bank. Everyone that met her was instantly struck by her natural onomatopoeia.
She was much younger than I, but we met and bonded somewhere during low points in our lives and as far as girls go, she was probably a much better friend to me than I was to her.
e.g. She: “He won’t F**k you because he’s in ‘Girlfriend mode’”. VS. Me: “She’s not even a real person yet”.
Oh, well, one night Gab-Dog goes out for drinks w/ my Leprechaun buddy & my wannabe F**k tart to attempt to figure me out.
That same night, a guy at the Irish pub falls down, hits his head, bleeds and pisses himself.
Long story short. “Where is she?” – “out back- getting sick”. Cut to: “Gab-Dog, you’re standing in blood, piss and sick – I just thought you should know”.
“Hans, You’re Great… you’re Great”.
Well, later when I got fired. I knew she’d hear the story. I did what was right.
So now, years later. I know a pretty girl in a town that’s known for its pretty girls… that could totally go into “Rockstar!!!” mode if she ever sees me.
And I know, I’m guilty.