Big, Bigger, Biggest

Way back in the day, circa ‘81, me and my best running buddy hung out in a biker bar called the Sahara. I don’t know why the bikers put up with us. Maybe because we bought ludes and acid from them. They even protected us upon occasion. As diminutive and stupid as we both were, those occasions weren’t all that rare. Mostly, though, we just chased girls and drank too much. We were harmless to everyone but ourselves.

At some point I began to notice my buddy dancing with large women. Stupid attractive women have always really liked him, so I didn’t understand his behavior. He explained that he liked dancing with fat girls because it made them feel good. Sounded good to me. I forgot about it.

Then one morning he called and informed me that he’d woke up with “a cow” in his bed. The good news, he told me, was that when he’d taken her home (home to her house) he’d met her two good-looking roommates. He assured me I’d soon appreciate his taking one for the team.

A few days later my bud and I were waiting in the parking lot of some apartments while another dude went in to buy some weed. Suddenly my buddy slid way down in the seat, kind of like a jack-in-the-box in reverse. “The cow!” he whispered. Just then two big girls, well into the two hundred pound range, came lumbering by.

I was horrified. “Oh man, you didn’t” I said.

“No, no man. Those are the good-looking roommates”. He peeked over the dash and pointed. “There’s the cow.”