A Tale Of Two Skanks

Let me start by saying that there is no point to this story. It contains no pithy advice or wise words. It's just something I wanted to write about for no other reason than my own wry amusement. Be warned if you read on though: it contains a lot of vulgarity.

A Rude Interruption

Friday afternoon. I'd just been to the doctor to get back a set of blood test results, and with nothing else urgent to do, I decided to stop and get myself some lunch at a nearby sandwich bar. I walked in the door and started staring uninterestedly at the menu above the counter. The chicken salad sandwich looked good...

As I started to order, the door swung open, and two of the loudest girls I've ever heard shoved their way through it. Their mouths were going at a mile a minute, and it was clear they were in the middle of a conversation.

"He's a fuckin' piece 'a shit. Why do ya bother with 'im?" sneered the first one.

"Fark off. You're just cut up about it is all", replied the second.

The first one laughed. "Fuck you ya slut!"

I turned around, ready to stare in disbelief that anybody would bring their fight off the street and into a sandwich bar of all places. It was clear at first glance however, that they were enjoying their raucous exchange, and didn't really give a damn who they disturbed. I rolled my eyes inwardly.

"Come on, let's get some shit to eat before he gets here" said the first as they walked towards the counter.

Both of the girls would have been about 17 or 18. The first one was blonde with very pale skin. She was wearing a pair of denim daisy dukes, with a see-through white, long-sleeved shirt it looked like she'd stolen from the men's department, and a tacky white bra underneath. I think I'll call her "Daisy" from now on. The second girl had redder skin and long black hair with a blonde-dyed fringe in front. She was wearing a skin-tight black and white striped "dress" that had a plunging neckline and stopped only slightly below her crotch. I'm going to call her Priscilla. Just because.

Walking Clichés

I have to admit, I stared. Then I did a double-take, trying to make sure that what I was seeing was real. The trashiness of the two girls in front of me was off the scale! The clothes the girls wore left so little to the imagination that I'm sure a bikini would have been more modest attire. These two girls were walking clichés - almost a grotesque caricature of what some 13-year-old boy might imagine porn stars dressed like on their days off.

I paid at the till and sat down to eat my sandwich quietly. The girls got their food and continued their inane chatter between mouthfuls. I tried my best not to pay too much attention, but their voices set my teeth on edge. I was tempted to go up to Priscilla and say, "Nice dress!" while wearing my best leer, but I reminded myself that I was here to have lunch and not to smack random skanks upside the head.

I was in the process of contemplating how much Priscilla had paid for her "dress" when a scruffy-looking young guy who would have been about 20 walked in the door. He wore torn jeans, and had tribal tattoos on his upper arms that just screamed "I'm an individual just like everybody else!" Let's call him Jeff shall we?

"Tha fuck 'ave you been?" sneered Daisy. I wondered why she didn't just wear that expression permanently - it would have saved her the trouble of pretending she felt anything other than contempt.

"Yeah, yeah," said Jeff dismissively as he sat down next to Priscilla and put his arm around her. He leaned in for a kiss, but she pulled away haughtily. He shrugged his shoulders and put his arms back on the table.

"You treat her like shit. Why tha fuck do you even show up?" Daisy said, clearly wanting to get in another dig. Jeff looked at her with a raised eyebrow for a moment, and then started talking to Priscilla. Daisy glared at him for a bit and then gave up. I wanted to chuckle, but stifled it at the last second.

Man Hating

I'd really wanted to find the girls' behaviour outrageous and offensive, but the absurdity of the situation simply prevented it. It was too good a show to walk out on. Here were two girls whose heads were obviously filled with the most self-centred bilge imaginable, and who it could reasonably be surmised had never had a single introspective thought or moment in their entire lives, and yet they embodied the aspirations of the generation of girls brought up on Bratz dolls. I shook my head with wry amusement. The banality of their minds shone through every time one of them moved their lips.

As I sipped on the apple juice I'd bought to go with my sandwich, my thoughts moved on to other matters. I'd just about completely lost interest when something snapped my spine to attention.

"I fuckin' hate men. I hate 'em. Fuck every last one of 'em" spat Daisy.

I sat still in disbelief. Here we were, in a public place, and a girl of no more than 17 had just declared her hatred for all men in a very self-congratulatory fashion. No doubt, cheers of sisterly pride are rising from the throats of some of the women reading this.

"So don't date one, jeez", replied Priscilla's boyfriend, with obvious irritation. "Nothing's stopping you from finding some chick to screw".

"We should just kill all of 'em. Fuck men", continued Daisy as if she hadn't heard him.

A half-dozen retorts flashed through my mind, but I left them unsaid. What was I going to gain by going head-to-head with a pair of history's worst skanks? Daisy wanted to get into Priscilla's pants pretty badly - that much was clear. Jeff was in her way of course, and he either didn't know or didn't care. I figured I was better off leaving them to their collective misery, so I finished up my drink and left without waiting to hear more.

I'm pretty sure Jeff got laid that night.


"The girl says 'Oh uh-uh, wait a minute! Wait a minute! Just because I'm dressed this way does not make me a whore!' Which is true. Gentlemen, that is true. All right, ladies, fine. You are not a whore. But you are wearing a whore's uniform." -- Dave Chappelle

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