The All American One Night Stand

I’m usually the one who ends up with the trashy scum whore who will swab your asshole with her tongue until it’s dry.  But no, I end up with some Iranian woman who is two church services short of a chastity belt.  We lay in bed and I caress her arms and neck.  Then I dandle my hand across her back only to find that it’s only possible purpose could be to assist a blind man in ordering a cheeseburger at the deaf school McDonalds.  There are more bumps on her back than there are letter combinations in the brail dictionary.  Hopefully this two-legged carbuncle gets a bottle of Proactive for her birthday because she is most certainly no longer getting the penis.  I give up and go upstairs to grab a sandwich and mourn my dick.  Dustin hasn’t spared a second and is on the couch having sex with back scabs friend. 
Unfortunately the darkness of the room spares no details and I can hear her loose vagina from across the room.  The word queer doesn’t quite cover it.  It sounds like a ho down with empty jugs and strong lunged backwoodsmen.  I shudder and fix myself a cheese and mustard sandwich.  I cram it down like a yokel eating a mayonnaise sandwich and then polish it off with a glass of lukewarm water, which is by the way the only food that compliments the smell of vagina on the face of the earth and perhaps Neptune.  The smell of vagina drifts across the room like a dead fish washing up on shore.  I catch a strong whiff and bolt for the stairs.  Upon returning to the room I find that Laura is fully clothed and half asleep on the far side of the bed. 
I tell her that her friend is upstairs taking it like a beach shack hooker who forgot to clean her vagina for the past half century.  I have to mention this is a joke several times before she stops glaring at me.  I rack my brain trying to think of something cool to say to make up for calling her friend a dirty-vaginaed hooker.  I could have talked about school, weather, politics, movies, but no; I landed on the question of whether or not she was a virgin.  She shot me a burning glance and stormed up stairs.  I was perplexed. I mean she could have just said yes. 
         Later on in the morning Dustin and I enjoyed an awkward fast food breakfast with the ladies.  My fruitless one nightstand didn’t order anything because she was McArab, and Dustin didn’t eat anything because he had already had a smelly slab of Mcvagina.  Dustins date had no trouble squelching down a number four and all my goddamn hash browns, even though I told her she couldn’t have any.  The pig shit cashier hadn’t given me any cream so I tried to sip down my molten black coffee while I eyed Laura over the rim of my coffee.  She must have caught my glance because she asked me what the fuck I was staring at?  I responded by saying, “I want you to sit on my face.”  Even the beach hooker looked up and paused mid-chew. 
I don’t understand why you have to be such a perverted asshole!”  I don’t understand why your back reads like the cover of a Goose Bumps novel!  And why the fuck wont you eat!  Having sex and eating McDonalds is like the most American thing ever.  If you don’t watch it your going to get black listed for being a terrorist.  She smacked me point blank in the face.  I wanted to rip every last pube out of my butt crack, chode, and ball sack and then pull her stupid bitch hair till she screamed and stuff them down the back of her throat.  I really thought I was going to shit my pants.  All the way down to the pant cuff.  I wanted to jump on her like a raging, savage ape and beat her brains out on the McDonalds dining room floor.  I blinked and swallowed what felt like mine, Dustins, and Chuck Norris’ adams apple.  Rising slowly out of my chair I picked up my coffee staring Laura dead in the eye and said (comment not fit for writing.com) and left.