That's all you can say about him. You'll be sitting there, early on a Sunday morning, trying to eat your cold pizza and read "The New Yorker," like a regular guy, and he'll challenge you, come up to you, in his "Chicks Dig Me" shirt to ask you to play a game, and you know it's true: Chicks DO dig him.
What is it about Mr Bunches that chicks love? The shock of hair that sticks straight up? The mostly-gummi-candy-based diet?
Whatever it is, it gives him the confidence to dominate the pool hall. Or the dining room table. Same thing, in this case.
That dining room used to belong to me. But after this game? I don't own it. MR BUNCHES OWNS IT.
The way he owns my SOUL.
Watch the movie. You won't hate yourself for it.
3 comments:
Minnesota Fats has nothing on him!
That was awesome. When I was a kid, we didn't use no sissy pool sticks. We just used our hands.
(It made for a lot of bruised knuckles.)
I learned a long time ago not to engage in ay competitive event with a child - they find ways to win. It's eerie how that is.
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