Me Love You Long Time | Issue 16

Me Love You Long Time | Issue 16

Critic’s blind date column has been running for a while now. We’ve all got some good laughs out of it, and at least a few people have scored themselves a night of romance. But here at Critic we feel that it’s time that we stepped it up a notch. The date is now at Little India to add a little more spice. If you want in on the action, email with your details.


I arrived at Little India intrigued at what kind of species Critic had lined up for me. I approached the bar staff, and was seated at a table. After a little flirting with the waitress, who looked like she was DTF, I spotted a brunette entering the restaurant. On first glance I thought this girl would be your typical prude, law student, so it was no surprise when I realised in a drunken epiphany just minutes into the date we had already resorted to talking about economic policies implemented by the National Party.

However that’s where the shit chat stopped, and it wasn’t long until our conversation had turned to two main subjects: Drugs and Sex. We ate dinner and it wasn’t long until I had a new friend, who shared a common “ liberal” approach to life with me. Being the sharing person I am suggested we share a joint in the octagon, and it wasn’t long after this until we had split a pill, smoked another joint, and had more drinks. The date was going swimmingly, and it was only 9.30pm. The night was young, however what was I to do? Go home and get on the piss with the flat and ditch her, or be the Gentleman and ask her what she wanted to do?

I decided to ask her what she wanted to do and without hesitation my new friend told me she wanted to go and do some baking. Back out our flat we continued to do more baking than Jo Segar on a Sunday afternoon. Suddenly she began to green out more than the Hulk himself. Luckily one of my noble flat mates offered a seat on his lap, if she wasn’t keen for mine. I am bad man. I had corrupted daddy’s little girl, this girl had some of the hungriest nostrils that I had ever seen!

Critic what a night you provided me with, it was great thanks very much! Not bad selection of my date either she had good chat for a girl. Thanks for the trip to first base, bit gutted that you were too green to hit a homer. I dozed off, however was disturbed when the girl was complaining that her heart was racing, and she couldn’t sleep. After reassuring her she would be fine she was just feeling the side effects of the pills, she passed out! What a good bitch and what a fantastic night thank you!


SEVEN PM: I’m outside the door to Little India and have just nervously swilled a whole can of Smirnoff Guarana to get me through what awaits me inside. I ask myself why in God’s name I agreed to do this. Well, you only live once and I’m always down for trying new things in life. My message to Scarfies: Screw your inhibitions, get out there and meet new people, you never know where it might lead…

I’m ushered to the table. There I find Ryan Gosling’s secret twin, a witty and articulate specimen with blonde tousled hair. Pretty soon I discover commerce boy is in fact commerce bad-boy. He asks me what my thoughts are on drugs, which leads to an enlightening debate about the legalisation of marijuana. I ask him the generic question, ‘so, what’s the craziest shit you’ve done as a scarfie?’ It leads to a random story about a walk of shame and running away from the cops. Before you know it the wine is all gone and we’re getting on like an Iraqi house on fire.

But what to do now the date is over? The night is still young. Bad boy whisks me off to a secret garden where we discover an interesting white powdery substance someone has left lying on a wheelie bin. My memory gets pretty hazy after that but I remember seeing sparkly lights and diamonds everywhere. We head to a bar and after a few cocktails are feeling very happy indeed. I start to zone out and the bartender gets a bit worried, so we shoot off back to bad boy’s place.

I meet the flatties who are a fine bunch of lads. They are in the middle of a red card which involves doing something to the neighbours. Bad boy and I escape to his bedroom, but the flatties gatecrash. Suddenly we are all fooling around in the bedroom, jumping up and down on bad boy’s bed gleefully like little children who’ve drunk a glass of sugar for breakfast.

I feel my pulse and it’s racing faster than Phar Lap. I’m freaking out. Bad boy chivalrously fetches me water. It’s impossible to sleep when I’m this buzzed so I escape into the night in time for my 9am lecture. Thanks for an amazing night Critic, I met a special guy who brought out my wild side. Who knows, we might stay “friends.”
This article first appeared in Issue 16, 2012.
Posted 5:14pm Sunday 15th July 2012 by Lovebirds.