Last night I took myself out, as I often do when no one else will, and happened upon some very strange characters. I wasn’t there five minutes before two men sat down next to me at this bar called Jones. They began to speak about me loud enough for me to hear them over the Beatles playing on the juke box. “Look at this beautiful girl. Look at those lips!”

“Well, Rocket, do you know her? What’s her name?”

“Her name’s Ashley. I bet she’s from Costa Mesa or something and she’s stuck here in Los Angeles for the holidays.” Rocket’s prediction was quite wrong though; Duke didn’t seem to be paying attention. Yes, those were their true and honest names. They sounded like pugs, not people, and their personalities reflected their absurd self-proclaimed identities. Rocket leaned into me like a cholo,”What’s your real name, sexy?”

“My name is Ashley and I’m from Costa Mesa.”

“We’ve got a funny one on our hands here Duke!” The one called Rocket was a “DJ,” which quite frankly is the funniest thing anyone can claim to be, especially if you have one of those fishy DJ names like he boasted. It was Rocket something or another so I decided to call him Rocket Man a la Elton John, and of course he was too vapid to catch the insult as I could almost see it go straight over his head which made me laugh. Some DJ he was.

Duke was even stranger. He wore a black wide brimmed hat and large black women’s sunglasses. He was wonderfully odd and inappropriate so of course I made friends with him.”Did you have a good day today?” Rocket let out a tormented sigh and put his face in his hands. Duke did the rest of the talking.

“Listen young lady, what’s the first thing that comes to mind when I say these two words: cocaine pussy.”

“Well, the first thing that comes to mind is that I have one but not the other.”

“You haven’t lived little girl. You haven’t lived until you’ve done lines off a sweet delicious pussy and then fucked for hours.” There was a pause, “I had a good day today.”

“What did you do?” I was genuinely entertained by this man. He grabbed his fancy $5,000 Canon with a lense the size of my forearm and scrolled through the pictures before stopping at one.

“What do you think of this picture?”

“Is that you?”

“Course it’s me. How do I look?”

“Well fine I guess. You’re sitting in an outdoor bathtub with all your clothes on so I mean, that’s weird. But look at that view! Where are you?”

“Andy Dick’s backyard. But do I look alright?”

“Yes Duke. You look fine. Better than you do right now at least.”

“You’re alright Sticky. I like your attitude. And I love the way you look. And I love your lips. And breasts. Look at your cleavage!”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

“Hey so, I’m not going to get anywhere with you, am I? No chance you’re letting me come home with you?”

“No.” I smile widely and so does Duke. “You should really take off those glasses. It’s pretty dark in here.” He removed his hat and placed it on my head. Then he took off the glasses (Chanel), folded them up delicately and positioned them on the bar next to his Stella. “That’s better darling. Here, help me with this food. You look hungry.”

Give a man some food and a smile and he’ll tell you his entire life story. Duke was a hedge fund asshole turned Hollywood designer punk rocker wannabe. Never married. No kids. Retired at 35 and last tonight at the ripe old age of 39 he sat next to me and explained how he had no substance in his life, no passion, nothing. I told him none of us have much and the best we can hope for is something. Anything. He then replied with a marriage proposal before bumming a smoke.

“I don’t usually go for blondes, you know.” I told him we weren’t going anywhere. I’ve learned you can be as mean as you want to a cocky man so long as you smile while you burn them. They’ll assume you’re just sassy. Duke stood up to take a piss and I told him I’d meet him outside for another smoke.

I didn’t. I decided to ditch the dumb and dumber pug-named burn outs and instead stumbled home thinking about “cocaine pussy”. This morning I woke up with an urge to wear leopard and paint my nails red. I’m glad it’s Friday