Groupies

I was hanging out with a group of local intellectuals in a local restaurant. One of these intellectuals, a rightfully celebrated writer, came with a groupie attached to his hip. Now, groupies are normally a sign of unadulterated rock star status, and this guy was every bit the local intellectual equivalent of a rock star. So, the fact that he has a groupie is hardly surprising.

Now, she wasn't bad-looking...I mean, if I just woke up to find her next to me in my bed, I wouldn't kick her out. So far, so good, right? But then, something happened. She opened her mouth. Good God Almighty...

Rarely have I met anybody that jaw-droppingly stupid. (Sorry, local intellectual rock star. You're still a hero to me.) I mean, if she were some sort of Valley Girl, I will find her cuteness and naiveté vaguely endearing. But, no, she was dead serious, with all the pretentiousness of a worldly granola bar (with the accompanying substance, or lack thereof). And in the midst of all this, she seemed to think the room found her charming.

I made the mistake of calling her the local intellectual rock star's girlfriend. He told me discreetly never to do that again, because he didn't want her getting any ideas. I don't blame you, my friend. I wouldn't want to tap that either. I'm sure you can pull much better tail.

I don't know if I'll ever become famous. But if I do, God save me from groupies like that.