Free Average American Male by Chad Kultgen Page A

pro wrestling. She signs the e-mail with a smiley face and a link to her profile. I check the link.
    Caligurrl669 is a little chubbier than I imagined from her e-mail, but not fat. Her tits are a little smaller than I imagined, but not bad.
    Her face is acceptable.
    I wonder if Caligurrl669 sucks dick on the first date. I wonder if shes likes anal sex. I wonder if Caligurrl669 is actually a guy trying to lure me into showing up somewhere so he can beat the shit out of me and take whatever cash I brought.
    I respond with the following message: Caligurrl669—
    I only set up dates with girls who send me nude photos of themselves accompanied by detailed descriptions of how they perform fellatio. To further pique my interest you might want to do something in the photos that lets me know you have a unique talent, you know, something to separate you from the crowd. I look forward to your response.
    Caligurrl669 probably won’t ever write me again and that doesn’t bother me. But then again, she might.

chapter eighteen
    Casey’s Parents
    Over the course of our relationship, Casey’s parents have come to Los Angeles to visit her several times. I’ve eaten dinner with them more than once and have been forced to endure multiple trips to the mall with them and Casey to look for clothes. As much as I hated all of that, the prospect of spending the next two days with them as their future son-in-law is on a different level of agony. But somehow the impending doom of my life ending in marriage to Casey is less threatening than the more immediate disaster that would result from breaking up with her now.
    We’re in my car on the way to LAX to pick her parents up. Casey says, “Remember, you can’t curse around my mom. She’ll think you’re a bad influence and that our marriage will be bad. And offer to pay for things. You’ll never have to, but if you offer to pay for things my dad will think you’re a provider and that’s good. And don’t bring up France with my dad. He’ll go crazy and won’t stop talking for an hour. And if my mom asks you where you think we’re going to live, just tell her that it’s still up in the air and it really depends on where we can find the best place. And if they ask you about a wedding date, tell them a.s.a.p.
    And if either of them ask you about when we’re going to have kids, just say as soon as we get settled we’re going to start trying. Wait, maybe don’t say anything about trying because they’ll think about us having sex and I don’t want my parents thinking about that. Just say as soon as we’re settled.”
    When we exit the 405, there’s a hobo with a sign that reads Homeless, Hungry, and Handsome—Anything will help at the first stop-light. I like his sign so I roll down my window. He walks in between a few cars also stopped at the red light and holds out his hand. I reach in my pocket and realize I only have a five-dollar bill. I don’t really want to give him five dollars, but I already rolled down my window and now he’s standing at it. I give him the five-dollar bill. He thanks me, the light turns green, and we keep driving. Despite the satisfaction I genuinely get from giving hobos money, I gave this guy money specifically to get the following reaction from Casey:
    “Why do you give them money? It’s so stupid. They just spend it on drugs and booze.”
    There’s something about her hating the fact that I give hobos money that makes me happy.
    We park at LAX and go into the baggage claim area to wait for Casey’s mom and dad to come out. She says, “God, isn’t this exciting.
    I mean, I know you’ve met them before and everything, but you’ve never actually met them as your future in-laws. Seriously, aren’t you excited?”
    I think she’s asking a rhetorical question so I don’t answer.
    She says, “Well, aren’t you?”
    “Yeah.”
    Some people start coming out of a door toward the baggage claim.
    Casey says, “Do you think that’s their flight?”
    I