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So I was sitting in the bar trying to figure out what the hell to do.  Johnny is still on holiday so it was once again up to me to sort out this week’s date.  I sat there for a good long time and as the beer took hold my worries about finding a date melted away and I grew more concerned about what I should cook for dinner.  The wonder of booze.  I pondered it a while and decided to cook myself a delicious mushroom risotto.
‘Where is the nearest place I could get some mushrooms?’ I asked the barman as I ordered my last drink.  He just smiled and gave me directions to a strange little herbalist shop.  But he was right on the money and I got a great deal on some dried mushrooms.  By the time I got home I had a serious case of the beer muchies, so I poured myself a glass of wine.  I said a brief toast to the late Keith Floyd and rustled up a truly dynamite mushroom risotto.  Then I sat myself down with my bottle and watched Countdown until I fell asleep.

I was startled awake by the sound of some filthy bugger ringing my doorbell.  In my half-asleep panic to get out of my armchair I spilt wine all over my favourite wife-beater and ended up running to the front door looking like a redneck that just birthed a fucking calf.
‘Who the fuck do you think you are waking me up at this hour!?’ I screamed as I whipped the door open.  ‘I’ll kick your monkey a…’ I trailed off when I saw who it was.  Officially the most awesome man on the planet: Mickey Rourke (Ref: Here)  He just smiled that cool smile, took off his shades and said, ‘Get your shit together, kid.  We’re going out.’  Needless to say, I obliged.

I put on my most kick ass outfit, looked in the mirror and realised it was only about 30% as kick ass as Mickey’s, and went downstairs to find him swigging from my bottle.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
‘I heard you needed a date for the movies.’
‘You’re gonna be my date!?’
‘Hell no.  I’m gonna help you get one.’
‘Oh, cool.  I’d actually prefer to just go drinking with you though.’
‘Well I can’t,’ he said, ‘I’m taking two strippers to dinner later.  Let’s go.’

So we went to the mall I work in and I had already developed a swagger that said ‘I’m walking around with Mickey Rourke, bitch.’  I introduced Mickey to my boss and she got his autograph.  He got her number.  Then we headed over to a clothes shop and Mickey started looking at some jeans.  Naturally, being Mickey Rourke, he attracted some attention from the staff.  All female.  He picked out the hottest one and said, ‘Excuse me hun?’  I stood back to watch the master at work.  ‘My friend here told me you were hot but God damn.’  She just giggled and played with her hair.  ‘He needs a date for tonight.  What you say – wanna let him take you to the movies?’
‘Um, yeah ok,’ she said without even glancing at me.  She was just staring at him with this dreamy look in her eyes and I realised her answer would have been the same if he’d asked her to sign over the deeds to her house, or if she’d like to be sold into the sex trade.
‘He’s a silly bastard but I reckon a good lookin’ dame like you could sort him right out,’ he said.  He was so awesome I wasn’t even embarrassed by this statement.  Then I realised I was giggling and playing with my hair.  He called over to the girl’s boss, ‘She’s going home early today,’ and there was no argument.  And so we went to the movies.

I was disappointed that I couldn’t hang out with Mickey for longer but I understood that he could only lay the groundwork, and the rest would be up to me.  He had worked his magic on me though, as well as the broad.  I was a changed man.  This new found self confidence was only enhanced by watching ‘The Goods: Live Hard Sell Hard’ because Jeremy Piven is the leading actor and Jeremy Piven does ‘ultra-confident’ like Sarah Palin does ‘being a huge bitch’.  It is almost impossible not to feel like a cocky sonofabitch for at least a few hours after watching Jeremy do his thing.  On top of that, the movie was awesome and hilarious in equal measure.  Afterwards, shirt unbuttoned almost to my belly and swaggering with such force that I gave myself mild whip-lash, I took the broad for a few drinks.  Despite having already had enough to knock me on my ass, the drink did not turn me into a drunken mess the way it usually would, and I realised that Mickey’s magic was still working.  It is a scientific fact that Mickey Rourke becomes more awesome the more he drinks.  This rule does not have a limit – his potential for awesome-ness is exponential.

At the end of the night the broad wrote down her phone number and gave me a kiss on the cheek.  I must have lost the piece of paper, though, because when I woke up in my armchair the next day all I had was a banging headache and a badly wine-stained shirt.

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