Dear Mr. Mangina,
Honestly, I didn’t know you were for me when I found you sitting Indian style on the top deck of sloppy tuna this past Sunday. I was intrigued by the way your steel blue eyes crossed back and forth and how you slurred your s’s- it sounded so Spanish (the Euro kind). You played hard to get when you offered me a drink and then stumbled away only to return moments later, empty handed. What really did it for me however was when I glanced down onto the beach and saw you gallantly swerving with the mediocre speed of a retarded antelope towards the lifeguard chair and to my particular delight I watched you climb like a one armed refugee to the top. Once you reached the top and assumed the position, I knew what was coming. I just knew in my gut what you were about to do, kind of like you just know when you are about to get the stomach bug. I felt that tingle, the flutter and I reached for my phone as you reached for your belt buckle, both of our actions in perfect unison. If you are the man that delighted my sick senses with this alluring and bold statement, call me. No maybe.
Matchmaker, matchmaker! Make me a match! If you don’t think LY and Mr. Mangina are gonna go on a date after seeing this blog, you are outside of your mind. And 30 years from now they’ll be able to tell their kids the story about how Mommy and Daddy met at the Sloppy Tuna because Daddy was so drunk he tucked his dick in between his legs and Mommy snapped a picture with her cell phone. Daddy partied a little too hard that day and drank about 15 Purple Jacks with Randy Montuna but Mommy just knew she needed to unveil that tucked back penis.
Sounds just like a Nicholas Sparks book. Wouldn’t be surprised to see Channing Tatum and Kristen Stewart starring in the movie once it goes to Hollywood.