Recently I realised I am incredibly competitive, it was while I was being treated for peripheral artery disease after I won at holding my arm up in the arm for the longest. I was telling J about this and we decided to trial a new feature where we would undertake a challenge every chance we got and then document it.
Our first challenge we set was to get as many numbers from men in a pub as possible in three hours, now I was totally down with this game, I wouldn't call it a challenge, because not only am I way better looking than J, I am also first class gay bait. I chose a well known homosexual haunt in the West Midlands, opposite a Nisa. I don't want to name it because it may give away a lot of husbands stories to their wives.
One the evening we chose for the game, I spent a long time getting ready. The modern homosexual is a confusing beast, no longer can you tell who they are from the bow tie and light blue suit. Nowadays it is an altogether more complicated affair. The there are however some tell-tale signs. A perpetual frown. An overly large forehead, outwards rather than upwards. And the smoking gun, a high visibility jacket. Now obviously this is a risky game, because while a large, and I mean closer to 100% than 99%, proportion of these men are ridiculously flaming homosexuals, a tiny, minute amount of these monosyllabic troglodytes are straight. As well as being straight, they are ham fisted fighting machines too, so I was literally taking my life into my hands. As I was saying before I digressed, I spent a long time getting ready, I had to get my look right, it had to be cat nip to gay men. It had to make me more appealing to the guys in this place than a pint of flat lager. So obviously, I chose a pair of jeans, a faded grey t-shirt and a high visibility jacket.
I met J outside the pub at 6:45, he had picked a tuxedo, top hat and cane. As soon as I saw his ridiculous ensemble I knew I was in for an even easier night. The only way that engorged wart faced mongoloid had a chance of beating me is if he threw acid in my face and then wore a mask of my face. We agreed to meet outside at 10PM and count up our numbers. We entered the pub, as soon as I opened the door the stench hit me. Warm lager and half arsed gourmet burgers. I knew I would get plenty of numbers in here, there is nothing gayer.
My first 25 numbers took about 15 minutes, gay after gay approaching me! I didn't once have to do any work, I knew I was winning, I saw J sitting at a small round table with a Margarita that seemed to be getting fuller by the minute from the sweat pouring from his acne ridden head. I was so confident I think I probably could have gotten J's number at that moment. It was then I heard it, the sound that signaled the start of the competition proper. The match of the day theme. As soon as I heard that familiar music I knew that soon the pub would be rammed with men who barely had enough mouth room to breathe for all the cocks in there. I was on a one way ticket to a phone full of numbers.
I looked over to J, he seemed to be doing well. He had a crowd of men surrounding him. I was intrigued. My fears were unfounded, I wasted 15 precious minutes pretending I needed a piss just so I could walk past him. As I got close, I almost felt sorry for him. They were pushing him around in the middle of them, shouting "come on Mr Monopoly, get your cock out!" what was going to be the final push to victory for me had turned out to be a reminder of play times at infant school for him. Match of the day always did bring the aggression out in gay builders.
As soon as I got back from the toilet it hit me like an articulated lorry, I was literally fighting off wave after wave of gruff patrons of the local builder's merchant. Before I knew it it was 9:58PM, I still had time for one last number though. All night I had been trying to catch the eye of what seemed to me to be the epitome of the modern homosexual male.
He had a neatly shaved head, black rough stubble, a scorpion tattoo on the front of his neck, a Ben Sherman shirt under his hi-vis and boots so worn the steel toe was on show. He had sat there, not showing me one ounce of interest, just staring into his Fosters all night. I knew I had to do something special, something that would get his attention. I sidled up to him, this had to be the ultimate in homosexual seduction, I put my pint of Carlsberg down next to him on the bar, "Fucking hell, the Villa are shit, I hope they go down!" he nearly gave me a blow job, let alone his number!
Me and J met outside at about ten past after I had escaped from the man mountain who was trying to do some mountin' he seemed quite confident, "ten numbers The Cunt, beat that!" I showed him my list "50 numbers J! In your face"
I never had the heart to show him the rest, I think it would have upset him more than the cost of renting that ridiculous tuxedo!
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