Giant Robot Store and GR2 News

(Art by spoon+fork.) Before we got started, I offered Andrea Conti a joint. Despite the close brush at JJ’s, I couldn’t stop smoking pot.  It became even more exciting.  Pot stayed in your body 90 days, as long as a warranty if you wouldn’t buy the extra protection. “No way, get that shit away from me,” she said, as she continued to roll up her sleeve. “Would you mind if I smoked?” “No, it’s disgusting.  Don’t do it.” Andrea was getting fussy, but wasn’t any less enthusiastic in what she did, even when it took me longer sometimes. The rules were set pretty early on.  I couldn’t touch her and she wouldn’t take off any of her clothes.  All she was going to use was one hand. “Andrea, do you have a boyfriend on the side?” I said, as she unzipped me. “I’m married, I don’t need a boyfriend!” “If I were your boyfriend, you’d have sex with me, right?” “I don’t like sex.” “This is sorta sex already.” “This isn’t sex, this is like my service.  I like to make people feel good.  I would never cheat on Michael.” “He doesn’t know about this, does he?” “Who do you think set the rules?” Suddenly I wondered if there was a camera somewhere in the truck.  Was this going out live on the Internet?  I was distracted and went a little limp. “You want me to talk like a black girl?” Andrea asked.  “Would you like that, boo?” “No, don’t do that,” I said.  I closed my eyes but the thought was in my head. I imagined Nadine from the bar. “There we go,” Andrea said. Nadine looking sideways at me.  Slowly she changed into Mrs. Angrywall.  The view moved from her face and down the groove in her calf to her dark brown feet with toe rings. I wondered what Mrs. Angrywall would be like in bed, with those toe rings jingling around my ears.   When I was up on the roof with Mrs. Angrywall that afternoon, I noticed that she was wearing a pair of low-cut Converses. “How come you’re not wearing your sandals?” I asked. “Oh, the damn strap broke.  I drag my feet too much.”  She took a drag on the joint and passed it back to me.  “Now I have to wear these evil Western shoes.” “They’re probably made in China.  They’re still Asian so you should like them.” “Ah, yes, because China and India are such good mates.  We’re all Asian, aren’t we?  That’s like me telling your people that the English are your brothers.” “From what my father told me, Irish killed more Irish during the troubles.” “Could be true, but the provos are far more intelligent than they’re given credit for.  There was no random violence.” “How do you know about the IRA?” “My boyfriend in college was Irish.  From Ireland.”  She took the joint back from me.  “Oh, don’t mention that to my husband.  I’ve never told him about it. ...
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