“What’s your d**k?” I ask him, looking at his center before he sits down.
He sits down and chuckles. “You mean my drink?”
“I said drink.”
“You said d**k. But that’s all right. I can’t help that it’s so big. Sometimes it’s hard to hide.”
“Sorry about that. I never noticed it under your rugby uniform.”
“No one does. We wear a lot of padding. It keeps the rolling pin hidden.”
Does he just call his c**k a rolling pin? Wow. Cliff is in for a treat. A massive treat. But only if this replacement theory of mine goes right. Or what Darsey calls a trade in his sports lingo.
I tell him, “I’m having a Manhattan.” It’s an older gentleman’s drink, but I like them.
“Hook me up.”
I tell Ben the bartender our order. He says he’ll bring the drinks over.
As we wait for our cocktails, Iron and I dis
