Columns

Marge
I have only read a Summer Lovin' article once before, and I remember laughing to myself thinking I would never do that. Imagine my surprise when my best friend waltzes into my room on a Monday night, announcing gleefully that she had signed me up for Summer Lovin' and that I had a date the following night. So despite my protests, I was forced to dress up and told to put in a genuine effort with my date. I was very nervous on my walk to Toast. Once I got there, I looked around for my date. I decided to wait for ten minutes.
Six guys walked into a bar and glanced at me. I had a sneaking suspicion one of them was going to be my date. One of them came up to me and explained my date was nervous, and his friends had come up with the idea of speed dating, and letting me choose. I had to talk to each guy for three minutes. I suggested they got me something strong to drink. It was a strange experience introducing myself six times and asking them the same questions. They were all very nice guys. I enjoyed talking to them. Number 4, as it turns out, was supposed to be my date. I talked to him for a while. I really found him very interesting, but I felt that he would make a good friend. At the end of the speed dating the boys lined up and asked me to choose. I ended up choosing Number 6, who I felt more of an attraction to. I informed Number 1 that he was my friend's type, and that they would get along great. The other boys left, and I was left with Number 6 and Number 1. We finished the bar tab and headed into the Octagon to meet up with my friend.
Number 1 and my friend hit it right off. I found out that Number 6 was a nephew of my high school principal which was a mark against him in my books. However, I discovered through his conversations with my friend that he had traveled overseas quite a bit and he was well informed about the world at large, which was a refreshing change. I also discovered that Number 1 was one of my high school classmate’s siblings. The boys bought me and my friend some drinks. Unfortunately, I wasn't feeling well and had taken a swig of medicine before I came out, so the alcohol went straight to my head. Pity my medicine wasn't very effective. We ended up at Number 6's place to play some pool, at which point I informed him that I had only ever played pool once in my life. He than commenced teaching me the finer points of the game. We ended the night on a good note, but I doubt that I will see him again.
 
Homer
"Just don't creep her out." Clearly the person handing over the bar tab was a dating rookie; not only do women like creepy, they can't get enough of it. With this in mind our evening was set and convention cast aside for our revolutionary tactic; Dirtbag Speed Dating.
 
Rather than uncomfortable conversation with one male, this lucky lady was gifted the opportunity to repeat those magical first minutes of awkward sexual tension six times, culminating in a bachelorette style brutal cull of the suitors not up to standard. A lucky bachelorette she was, with a doctor, dolphin trainer, beekeeper, pilot, pseudo celebrity and army private, literally about to ship out for Timor. Flawless.
 
Beers drunk, batting order ascertained and ground rules finalised, regardless of the looks of the date, if you were the stud selected you were committed to the writhing end. In a flying V we arrived at Toast chock full of grit, a stony silence in the air. It was game time, goggles on, chocks away last one back’s a homo, hurrah! We scanned for the evening’s entertainment and nestled away in a booth alone, like the last lamb at the abattoir, was our Pakistani Princess, fair trembling from our entrance.
 
So six rounds of the normal beginning banalities, kicked off each time by her seemingly unpronounceable name, for our culturally limited vocabulary anyway. Quickly dubbed after a commonly down the hatch shot, we were away, shit banter bouncing off this box-shaped bar. Bulls to the wall, she drew her aim and let fire, each horrible man dropping until I was standing alone, victorious pulverizing ring in the air.
 
A quick stint of shots at I.B.s gratefully accompanied by the soundtracks of Titanic and The Lion King, it was time to get animalistic on this shit. So back to the lair, where Prince was pumping and so was I. After an attempt at backdoor banditry, accidental I swear, it was purple rain time.
 
Isn’t technology a wonderful tool? I really don’t think I could have retold this verbally, my tongue being tied and all. So thanks dear Critic, you had me dreaming of Cadbury’s. Yum.