Here's a good one going way back to freshman year of college: I am shooting the shit alone in my dorm room, when suddenly the door slams open and I am ambushed by my roommate "BillBrassky" and my neighbors "C-Rock", "EuroBaller" and "FamGuy"

Famguy: So, we were all talking, and apparently Brassky here claims you were whackin' it in the room at 4 AM last night.

Me: Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't.

BillBrassky: You definitely were.

Me: Man, don't you have class at 9?

BB: I went out and smoked a cig at 3:30. Heard ya clear as day when I came back.

Me: There's no way.

C-Rock: It's OK man. I mean, there are SO many hot pieces of ass on our floor.

EuroBaller: Go to 1313 man. The lucky number indeed. I spent the night in there last night, with that blonde.

Me: Nice, dude.

C-Rock: So tell us, who were you rubbin one out to?

Me: That's no one's business.

C-Rock: Was it that brunette, your friend from hebrew school? I sure hope not, because she is essentially a dog, bro.

FamGuy: My guess is that monkey on floor 7. I've heard talk that she wants to swing from his vines.

Me: I won't say.

EuroBaller: Your friend is a dog, C-Rock is right. I would throw her a bone though. Maybe. Feed her some wine, put on some Cat Stevens, you know the rest.

BillBrassky: It's OK that you tug it, man. Just try not to do it when I'm in the room anymore, that's fucking gross.

Me: Try my best.

BB: But seriously, jacking off builds up your forearm strength, I have heard. Gonna have a hell of a golf game at the rate you're going.

I am sitting out on South Beach in Miami, soaking up some sun. Some bikini-clad local girls are sitting on the beach nearby, talking about a recent break-up. I can somehow tell they are current or former Florida State sorority girls.

Jan: How are we gonna get you back onto the market?

Jill: I have, like no idea.

Rina: Ohmigod I have like, the perfect idea.

Jill: What, like a date auction?

Jan: That would be so fun.

Rina: You know those planes that you can rent out and fly over South Beach, with a banner behind them?

Jill: Umm, yeah

Jan: Ohmigod, those are like, so annoying. They're always like "Come to my club"

Jill: Or like "Has anyone seen my puppy?"

(I have NEVER seen anything like this on a flyer. Girls in South Florida are absolutely ridiculous.)

Rina: Well we can rent one of those out and have the banner say say "Jill Keller. Hungry For Your Love. Home number 305-111, Cell 205-3232 or whatever.

Jill: Ohmigod, you would NOT seriously do that.

Rina: I sooo would.

Jan: How much would that cost, like a million dollars?

Rina: Don't worry about that, my dad can take care of it.

I am in a crowded sports bar, when this girl comes up to me and asks if I could buy her a drink. I start a conversation with her, and it is going fairly smoothly until the subject of sports comes up

MetsGirl: ...What teams do you follow? You a Mets fan?

Me: Well I like and respect what the Mets are doing. But ultimately, I am a fan of my wallet.

MetsGirl: So, are you a real fan or not. Yes or no? If you're not a true fan, this conversation is over.

Me: This conversation is over when I say it is.

MetsGirl: Are you a fan or not? Because if you're not a true Mets fan, there will be no sexual component to this conversation.

Me: Well I grew up watching the Yankees and Mets, and I really respect and like where the Mets are at. Ultimately though, they're just a team. Teams don't do anything for me personally.

MetsGirl: Then there is no chance of us having sex. Stop talking to me.

Me: What if I was (Mets 3B) David Wright?

MetsGirl: Then I would probably blow you under the table right here, and then take you back to my house in Jersey so we could fuck. Hoboken, bitch!

(Note: no major leaguer in his right mind would ever think to go back to a girl's apartment 20 miles away, in the ugliest and most overrated suburban shithole. Even this girl's friends told me she is absolutely retarded.)

Me: What if I was a major league player for any other team, let's say the Nationals? What if I was Ryan Zimmerman? Then I would still have tons of money, could whisk you away to anywhere in the world you want...

MetsGirl: If you played for any other team I would tell you to fuck off and probably smack you.

Me: I could smack you right now if I wanted to. You are one of the shallowest, most insecure people I have ever talked to. Not worth my time.

MetsGirl: What does that have to do with the Mets?

Me and my two friends, Panic and BroncHorse, are walking down First Avenue after a long night of drinking, looking to find the nearest pizza place for some late-night eats. BroncHorse is telling some entertaining stories as we walk. He is still on an adrenaline high from his night out at the bar.

BroncHorse: Did you see the size on that girl's boobs man? The one in the purple, we were dancing with. Those things were like flying saucers, like (mimics a walkie-talkie sound) Earth to BroncHorse, those things are huge. Over. Can you only imagine those things being on top of you while fucking? The traction there has got to be an issue.

As he is telling this story, a girl is walking by, most likely also coming back from a night out. She is in her mid-20s

Carol: Um, excuse me. that's just disgusting.

BroncHorse: I'm just telling like it is, hun. Hey, what are you up to right now? Come get some pizza with us

Carol: You guys are pigs. Seriously

BroncHorse: Sorry I can't please everyone.

Carol: Goodbye

Carol begins walking away at a brisk pace. Panic picks up on the "walkie-talkie" dialect BroncHorse had used during the story, and exactly on cue, he and BroncHorse run with it.

Panic: Earth to BroncHorse, observer has no sense of humor. Over

BroncHorse: Earth to Panic, female wishes she had big enough boobs so that we'd be talking about her. Over

Carol, halfway down the block, turns around and gives my friends a shot of her middle finger.

Panic: You do realize that passer-by was the one who initiated the conversation. Over.

BroncHorse: She could have just kept walking. Over

Panic: What a beeyotch. Over.

Carol quickens her pace even further.

BroncHorse: Run, passerby, run. Over

Panic: That was just mean. Over.

BroncHorse: She's getting breast augmentation surgery tomorrow. Over

With this comment, Carol walks inside the nearest building, and does not come out until we have long walked away

After a couple of bad experiences in the late-90s, when rave and underground techno culture was prominent in American society, I swore that I would never again attend a techno concert. However, upon walking down Miami Beach recently, I stumbled upon a huge one at the pool of one of the beachside hotels. Sensing some great material, I walked into the rave unsolicited, and stumbled upon this little gem:

Zonked Dude: Amazing party man, this DJ is the best! WOO HOO!

Me: I guess so, even tho every song he's played for the last 30 minutes is exactly the same.

Zonked Dude: Who freakin' cares, man. Anyway man, you wouldn't happen to have any E, would you? Me and my buddies have been on a day-long quest to find a hook-up.

Me: Umm, no, and even if I had some, I wouldn't bother giving it to you

Zonked Dude: OK, thanks man.

Me: Wait a second come back here... what would you do for me if let's say I gave you your E hookup?

Zonked Dude: I would give you a big kiss and you would be my hero, man.

Me: Um, I don't exactly roll like that, if you know what I'm saying.

Zonked Dude: I know you're lying man, I see the look on your face. I know you got that groovy E. Listen man, we have some bomb-ass acid up in our hotel room. You wanna throw down with us?

(Wait for it...)

Me: I would rather eat out a pig's ass.

Zonked Dude: Pigs are groovy, man. You ever seen Animals, by Pink Floyd live?

Me: This conversation is over.

Zonked Dude: Wait a minute, dude. I wanted to inject some Floyd into your bloodstream. I got needles, man... Wait, man.

And just like that, I am gone. I had already "waited" light years longer than I should have.