Watch A Little Boob Tube Day!
Your ex-boyfriend is being led across his office plaza with his hands cuffed behind his back and his suit jacket over his head. It's a live feed and when the suit jacket falls off, you can see that it's Scott.
"Scott," you mutter out loud. You sound a little stupid when you say it because your mouth is full of ice cream.
The newscaster says that Scott looted the company of two million dollars. A good hunk of the money paid rent on the apartment where he housed his stripper girlfriend.
"God that was a fun night," you say out loud, again sounding like a retard because there's even more ice cream weighing down your tongue this time. The night you're referring to is the night Scott brought you to the Spearmint Rhino in London, seemingly on "a whim," and he bought a half hour in a private lounge for a dancer to writhe all over you while he watched. At the hotel later, you and Scott had sex until dawn. You don't remember whether the sex was especially good or bad, you just remember that it went on for a while.
You do remember that dancer though. "God she was so fucking hot," you say, barely intelligible as you try to keep from freezing your nasal passages with the ice cream too mountainous to swallow.
You stopped seeing Scott a month after London when he showed up to your apartment on coke and was a dick to your roommate. You've never dated anyone rich since (not by choice).
His image there on the TV screen is your first sight of him in two and a half years. The newscaster mentions his wife and six year old daughter, which means he must have been married while he was seeing you. You didn't know that.
You put some more ice cream in your mouth and you say out loud, again in that stupid sounding mouth-full-of-ice-cream voice, "God I love ice cream."
Happy Watch A Little Boob Tube Day!
