Mary: How'd it go?
Jane: Gawd-awful. He was the most boring, self-absorbed asshole I've ever wasted three hours over.
Mary: Why? What happened?
Jane: First, it was like he had a different word for everything...like he was fucking French or something. He starts right up with the talkitecture: he flicked the butt of his Galoises out the Bimmer window and said he "defenestrated" it. We go to some weird-ass afri-vegan shithole downtown, telling me that the "parti" for our date was "living sustainability". He spends two hours making love to the interior design of the place. Looked like a third-world ghetto to me...dirt colored walls with rusty ceiling panels and creaky, beat-up furniture, old forks and knives, cracked lights and used glasses and plates. Everything was dirty...I could tell, even though the lighting was so dim I could barely see to order that nasty joloff and foofoo. When it came, the plates were dirty...he said it was because they "employed low-water use technologies" in their "ontological back-of-house operations schemata".
Mary: Holy shit, what a douche.
Jane: Ah, yeah. After I got stomach cramps from the beriberi-laced yams, I asked him to please drive me home. He was pissed that I disturbed the "anthropomorphic flow-diagram" that he had sketched out for the evening and that this would affect the "metrics" of our date.
Mary: Freakshow wanted some action, right?
Jane: Yeah, right...not gonna happen.
Mary: You're not going to see him again.
Jane: No, but I think he will become a stalker. He referred to the Italian Cypress trees in my neighborhood as "phallic". I think he probably meant "I wish i had a big schlong like Frank LLoyd Wright". I gotta buy some mace; see ya later, Mary.