Congratulations on Convincing Her You're Not Cheap!

When you tell her you're taking her to McDonalds, she'll roll her eyes.

"Classy," she'll drawl.

Your mind will spin as you to try to come up with something, anything, to turn the tide without backing away from your decision and looking weak.  Chicks hate indecision almost as much as they love shitty fashion television shows, and if you wanna bonk hoohas with this one, you'll have to find a way to make her believe that your decision to take her to lunch at McDonalds and order off the dollar menu wasn't just an attempt to be frugal which, just to be clear, it actually was.

"Just hear me out," you'll tell her, trying to buy time.

"Well?" she'll ask.

You won't have anything, so you'll just say, "I was speaking metaphorically.  I'll show you when we get there," and keep leading one pissed off Bennington student down Main Street until you get to your destination: your local McDonalds Hamburgertown Restaurant.  You'll walk in the door in the midst of a doldrummy afternoon and proceed to order off the dollar menu.  Your date will wave her hands in a negative gesture when you ask her what she'd like.

"I refuse to feast on the misery of American wage slaves," she'll loudly declare, soliciting a series of harumphs of agreement from behind the counter.

"Well," you'll stammer as you eye your food being prepared behind the counter.  "I can see where you're coming from.  Tell me more."

She'll launch into a tirade about how corporate America is suffocating the lower classes and how you, as a man with money to shop at McDonalds, need to take action by refusing to do so and instead supporting businesses that employ people with a similar skillset in a way that doesn't fundamentally undervalue them as people.  She'll call on the workers of McDonalds to stand up and strike, eliciting a slow clap from the entire staff, except for the young man making your food who will, by all external markers, simply not speak English.

When your food finally arrives on the table you'll exclaim: "I AGREE!  LET'S TEAR THIS FUCKING PLACE DOWN!"  This will prompt a roar of approval from the McDonalds staff in support of your call to arms and a clatter of fast-fooding tools as they tumble to the ground.  The staff will rush out the front of the store, carrying you, your date, and your food (held by a bag clutched in your hand) right out the front door in one of the most powerful spontaneous protests of the recent fast-food strike movement.  In the rush to start to strike, the McDonalds staff will forget to charge you for your food.

As you stand there on the curb, cooling dollar hamburger now transferred to your pocket, screaming slogans that didn't exist a few seconds earlier with a woman you met on OkayCupid, your only thought will be I hope this works out, hippy girls are supposed to be freaks in the sack.

It will not work out in your favor, but enjoy your cold beef-like product later tonight while you watch Leno! 

Congratulations on Convincing Her You're Not Cheap!

Congratulations on Falling Out with the Church!

“I just don’t think fucking kids is right,” you’ll declare quietly while sitting at the Secret Catholic Club’s fancy dinner table. Then the room will go quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop. Everyone will have stopped eating. Occasionally someone’s robes will rustle, but for the most part the stillness will be suffocating. Then a chair will screech as the Archdioses of Boston rises to his feet shaking his head.

“BURN IN HELL, HERETIC!” he’ll cry, flicking holy water on you. You’ll sputter as it goes into your mouth and spills down your shirt. You’ll want to flip shit and hit him in the face, but he’s your church superior so it’ll be a no-go. You’ll just have to stand there and take it.

He’ll keep at it a good long while, hurling various relics and reliquaries at you and chanting non-sense in what sounds like but actually is not Latin while he circles around you. Dinner will have been over for a long while when some of the other members of the Catholic church finally step up and take him to another room where he can get wasted on sacrament and throw rocks at an old man with a beard they pay to walk back and forth in the Vattican basement.

Once he’s been removed you’ll be shuffled off too, but not to a fun place where you get to abuse the poor. You’ll be taken to a secret underground meeting room where the Pope will be waiting for you. He’ll be looking particularly evil this evening, with dark rings under his eyes and his fingers constantly touching by only the tips.

“Good evening,” he’ll say, smiling unnervingly.

“Hey Pope,” you’ll say, doing a little semi-circle wave at him. He’ll nod back. Then he’ll lick his lips and begin.

“Your controversial opinion regarding the sexual abuse of children is a bit much for some of us,” he’ll sigh. “We cannot have such dissenting voices within the church.” You’ll sit, struck dumb.

“Thinking we shouldn’t fuck kids is controversial?” you’ll say, puzzled. He’ll immediately shush you.

“Please, my child. The walls have ears here.” He’ll drum his fingers on the desk as he considers just what to do with you. “Excommunication would be imprudent, given your record and the circumstances.” Then he’ll make a sucking sound through his teeth. “How do you feel about Alaska?”

You’ll stand up and bow to the pope, then walk out of the room, your shoulders drooping a little. You didn’t want to have your career with the church go this way, but sometimes it happens. At least you’re going to Alaska instead of one of those molesting priests. Maybe you’ll even be able to do some good there. We don’t know, we’re not that good at this future thing. For now we’ll just say Congratulations on Falling Out With the Church!