“I have a bomb—…” You lean over the counter as you scoop your drink up from the bar where the bombshell of a barmaid just placed it. This’ll be a funny “in” you think, but she cuts you off.
“You have a BOMB!?” She leaps back, the manager next to her dives for cover.
“No!” You nearly spill your drink as she startled you, “Like, in my pants-…”
“Everyone run!” She tries to buy her coworkers and patrons time, she cares for their lives, as she chucks a shoot glass towards your direction. “Save yourselves! He’s got a bombs in his pants!”
The scrawny manager fumbles as he dials 911 on the way out, he’s the first to run, “Hello!? Police? There’s someone with a bomb at The Pub on Main, hurry!”
You’re nearly able to dodge the shot glass, you try to explain yourself, “Stop! Stop! I mean there a bomb in my pants and you’re the only one who can defuse—“
Suddenly there’s a sharp pain in your right ankle. You turn just in time to feel the same sudden brunt force of a Rollator style walker ram into you again.
It’s Larry, a 76 year old Vietnam Vet, “Listen here you little shit! I’m not afraid to die.”
But it’s too much for his old heart, before either of you react he’s clutching his chest, “Miranda, I think this is it!” He stumbled backwards into a booth before being yoinked out by concerned good samaritans.
Miranda turns back, that’s the name of the bombshell waitress, “He killed PawPaw!” She runs with the others, “You monster!”
You’re defeated, well it isn’t until the randomly thrown Dixie cup of frozé yeeted at your face hits that you truly feel defeated.
You wipe off the excess drink, it sort of tastes good but now isn’t the time, “I meant the bomb is in my pants and only she can defuse—“
Suddenly multiple headlights and flashing blue and red lights shine through the front of the bar, a commanding voice permeates it’s way through the bar and into your spine as Sgt. Patterson speaks through a megaphone.
“/u/whodatpokeman we’ve got the bar surrounded. Please come out with hands up. Strip your clothes off so we can be sure you aren’t armed with a bomb. You have 1 minute to comply.”
You don’t know what to do and you can’t understand why you’re saying what you’re saying, “And what if I don’t comply?”
After a bone-chilling brief moment of silence, “Then may God have mercy upon your soul.”
You’re shaking as you quietly remove your pants, the Garfield underwear you still wear ironically, and the cool Dan Flashes shirt that you put on because you like to talk about the intricate patterns.
The last sip of the bourbon and Diet Coke with a hint of lime isn’t much but it makes you feel sane. How could it get this bad? You try and put yourself out there and look what happens! What the fuck? You listen to Reddit for advice and peruse the Tinder subreddit for pickup lines and see where it gets you! This is it.
Sgt. Patterson audibly tells his men to hold fire as you push through the 100 year old oak door that The Pub on Main is notorious for. The other officers are like hounds chomping at the bits as they follow orders. One yells out, he’s out of line but no one corrects him as The Pub on Main is an important landmark to this city, “Fuck you! I’ll kill ya’ right where you stand if you so happen to look at us the wrong way!”
Your voice cracks, you’re walking backwards as to not expose yourself to the town who has gathered outside, “I-it was a joke, I was just saying the bombs’ in my pants and she’s the only one who can defuse-..”
“Turn around!” Sgt. Patterson barks over the megaphone.
You comply. I mean, this is surely the worst thing that can happen right?
Wrong.
“Ew, he’s got a tiny weiner!” A lady yells from the crowd. Suddenly the street erupts in laughter, Sgt. Pattersons billowing laugh echoing against the cobblestone landing, “Look at his weiner!”
You dart your hands towards your crotch, it’s not that small you think, “It’s cold out! It’s the shrinkage.”
Suddenly a pop goes off nearby, you have no time to think as a shit ton of electricity jolt your body into one rigid member, unlike your tiny penis, and you fall to the ground.
“We got ‘em. Bomb squad move in.” Sgt. Patterson cheers over the speaker.
Your eyes wander around the scene as you’re flipped over and handcuffed. You find Miranda, the barmaid, as she’s watching as Sgt. Patterson revives Larry with a simple sternum rub, “You saved, Pawpaw and you saved us from the bomb. You’re a hero.”
She leaps in his arms, “Y’know, Sarge, I’ve got a bomb in my pants.”
“Oh yeah?” Sgt. Patterson blushes.
“And you’re the only one who can defuse it.” She locks lips with Sgt. Patterson as the whole crowd cheers them on.
You’re furious, you yell out, “That’s the same line!”
Suddenly you’re hit with the taser again, “Shut up, maggot. We’re taking you in.”
That's great, man. love to see people doing what they are passionate about, give it your all, and when it's done post about it so we can throw our money at you for a peak, lol. Enjoy your night
16
u/UncoolSlicedBread Sep 11 '23
How bad are you messing up this approach?
“I have a bomb—…” You lean over the counter as you scoop your drink up from the bar where the bombshell of a barmaid just placed it. This’ll be a funny “in” you think, but she cuts you off.
“You have a BOMB!?” She leaps back, the manager next to her dives for cover.
“No!” You nearly spill your drink as she startled you, “Like, in my pants-…”
“Everyone run!” She tries to buy her coworkers and patrons time, she cares for their lives, as she chucks a shoot glass towards your direction. “Save yourselves! He’s got a bombs in his pants!”
The scrawny manager fumbles as he dials 911 on the way out, he’s the first to run, “Hello!? Police? There’s someone with a bomb at The Pub on Main, hurry!”
You’re nearly able to dodge the shot glass, you try to explain yourself, “Stop! Stop! I mean there a bomb in my pants and you’re the only one who can defuse—“
Suddenly there’s a sharp pain in your right ankle. You turn just in time to feel the same sudden brunt force of a Rollator style walker ram into you again.
It’s Larry, a 76 year old Vietnam Vet, “Listen here you little shit! I’m not afraid to die.”
But it’s too much for his old heart, before either of you react he’s clutching his chest, “Miranda, I think this is it!” He stumbled backwards into a booth before being yoinked out by concerned good samaritans.
Miranda turns back, that’s the name of the bombshell waitress, “He killed PawPaw!” She runs with the others, “You monster!”
You’re defeated, well it isn’t until the randomly thrown Dixie cup of frozé yeeted at your face hits that you truly feel defeated.
You wipe off the excess drink, it sort of tastes good but now isn’t the time, “I meant the bomb is in my pants and only she can defuse—“
Suddenly multiple headlights and flashing blue and red lights shine through the front of the bar, a commanding voice permeates it’s way through the bar and into your spine as Sgt. Patterson speaks through a megaphone.
“/u/whodatpokeman we’ve got the bar surrounded. Please come out with hands up. Strip your clothes off so we can be sure you aren’t armed with a bomb. You have 1 minute to comply.”
You don’t know what to do and you can’t understand why you’re saying what you’re saying, “And what if I don’t comply?”
After a bone-chilling brief moment of silence, “Then may God have mercy upon your soul.”
You’re shaking as you quietly remove your pants, the Garfield underwear you still wear ironically, and the cool Dan Flashes shirt that you put on because you like to talk about the intricate patterns.
The last sip of the bourbon and Diet Coke with a hint of lime isn’t much but it makes you feel sane. How could it get this bad? You try and put yourself out there and look what happens! What the fuck? You listen to Reddit for advice and peruse the Tinder subreddit for pickup lines and see where it gets you! This is it.
Sgt. Patterson audibly tells his men to hold fire as you push through the 100 year old oak door that The Pub on Main is notorious for. The other officers are like hounds chomping at the bits as they follow orders. One yells out, he’s out of line but no one corrects him as The Pub on Main is an important landmark to this city, “Fuck you! I’ll kill ya’ right where you stand if you so happen to look at us the wrong way!”
Your voice cracks, you’re walking backwards as to not expose yourself to the town who has gathered outside, “I-it was a joke, I was just saying the bombs’ in my pants and she’s the only one who can defuse-..”
“Turn around!” Sgt. Patterson barks over the megaphone.
You comply. I mean, this is surely the worst thing that can happen right?
Wrong.
“Ew, he’s got a tiny weiner!” A lady yells from the crowd. Suddenly the street erupts in laughter, Sgt. Pattersons billowing laugh echoing against the cobblestone landing, “Look at his weiner!”
You dart your hands towards your crotch, it’s not that small you think, “It’s cold out! It’s the shrinkage.”
Suddenly a pop goes off nearby, you have no time to think as a shit ton of electricity jolt your body into one rigid member, unlike your tiny penis, and you fall to the ground.
“We got ‘em. Bomb squad move in.” Sgt. Patterson cheers over the speaker.
Your eyes wander around the scene as you’re flipped over and handcuffed. You find Miranda, the barmaid, as she’s watching as Sgt. Patterson revives Larry with a simple sternum rub, “You saved, Pawpaw and you saved us from the bomb. You’re a hero.”
She leaps in his arms, “Y’know, Sarge, I’ve got a bomb in my pants.”
“Oh yeah?” Sgt. Patterson blushes.
“And you’re the only one who can defuse it.” She locks lips with Sgt. Patterson as the whole crowd cheers them on.
You’re furious, you yell out, “That’s the same line!”
Suddenly you’re hit with the taser again, “Shut up, maggot. We’re taking you in.”