So, your boy Holmes had himself a date on Saturday night. It didn’t go quite as I had planned. Let me tell you about it.
I pulled up to the young lady’s house and stepped out of my 1987 Datsun hatchback. As I walked up to the front stoop, I felt a twinge of anticipation as I depressed the button to ring the bell. As my date’s father (yeah you heard me….father) opened the door, he told me that the dog’s name was Holmes.
“That’s my name, too.” I said as I walked in to the foyer of this Victorian home.
As my date walked down the stairs, I was stricken by her long, raven tresses and alabaster skin. Her subtle movements and inherent grace were evident in ever step. Each step created more of a reaction… my palms started to sweat… my heart beat faster… I lost my breath… fell on the floor…. and lost all control of my bodily functions.
In her graciousness, my date ran to the kitchen to get some paper towels, but it was far too late. By this time I had emptied my bowels and stopped caring. So, I took off my pants and made love to the sofa cushions.
Her father screamed, “I am going to call the police!”
So, I ripped out the phone cords and closed all the curtains, and yelled, “If you will all behave, we will all get out of here alive!”
So, as I sit here in my jail cell, I have only a vision of my date’s beauty to get me through the night. Each time I think of her, my palms start to sweat… my heart beats faster… and I vomit.
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