The party is in full swing. You can’t take a step without bumping into a drunk babe gripping a cheap, ice-cold beer. The newest rap song that influences girls to get weird is booming through the speaker system, and the dance floor has been transformed into a danger zone of sexuality. That’s where you see him.
He’s standing in the middle of the gyrating crowd, his eyes drooping lazily, void of any human emotion due to over intoxication and recreational drug use, staring right at a group of dancing girls with a look on his face that suggests he has been possessed by some perverted demon. He slowly raises his right arm, extends it straight out in front of him, and points directly at one of the ladies in a short jean skirt. She’s ten feet away and hasn’t noticed him yet, but he holds his point strong. Undeterred, his soulless eyes remain fixed on her. Eventually she sees him, gives a disgusted scowl of disapproval, and turns away. He lowers his hand, pivots in another direction, sways in place for a moment to catch his balance, spots another potential mate, and aims his index finger at his new target.
He’s your creepiest friend, and that’s how he behaved at every single party you attended during college.
His game didn’t change much after graduation. Instead of shamelessly pointing at hot chicks in the middle of parties, he shamelessly points at hot chicks in the middle of bars. Eventually one of them is always too drunk to realize he’s a stranger, stumbles over, giggle-burps, and asks flirtatiously, “Do I know you?” He leans in seductively to her ear and drools out a rambling, incoherent response that is nowhere close to anything that could be considered a rational thought.
“What?!” she asks in reply.
“HUH?” he grunts back at her.
“WHO?” she yells back at him.
“I WANNA DO YOU,” he proclaims.
The conversation ends as quickly as it began. Total communication failure. She gives him a confused look and goes on her way. He orders another whiskey double.
Within no time, he ends up getting booted from the bar for doing his patented point at either a female waitress or a male bartender with long hair that he mistook for a female waitress. This is your creepiest friend, though. He doesn’t give up after one rejection from a girl, and he certainly doesn’t give up after one ejection from the bar. He sneaks in the back door minutes later, and does it all over again. Those nights are the best. His total lack of a moral compass makes you feel better about yourself. It always has.
Sadly, those nights are gone forever, because last night your creepiest friend got engaged.
This is a guy that once went up to a random girl and explained that her breasts reminded him of his mother’s. This is a guy that once threw up on his date’s lap and then asked if she’d like him to lick it up. This is a guy that once asked your girlfriend if she had any friends that would let him “mine their poop caverns.”
But within a year, he’ll be standing at the altar, ready to take his vows and dedicate the rest of his life to one woman. Who can blame him? When you’re as creepy as he is, and you find a loving member of the opposite sex that can see past the sea of disturbing personality flaws that define you, you’ve gotta lock that down.
On his wedding day, you’ll gaze hopelessly up at the beautiful couple as they promise to spend the rest of their lives together, and two tears will fall from your eyes, because you’ll know the game will never be the same, and you’ll hear a songbird singing out in the distance, ever so faintly, mourning your fallen friend.
He was an idol of shameless perversion, a beacon of hope shining bright for all the single men of the world to look upon and say, “At least we still have that guy.” But now he’s gone. The bars are a little safer, but the world is a little darker.
To all the creepers that remain: stay strong, my friends. We need you now more than ever, to make the rest of us feel normal.