Let me get back to Friday night.
After my second shower of the week, followed by an Aqua Velva baptism, I squeezed Señor Manaconda into my favorite pair of black, snug-front Bugle Boys and embarked upon a sacred quest:
A mission to ensnare a pair of morally fallacious half-sisters from Scottsdale who would love me more for my checkbook than my heartbook?
A plan to awkwardly enfleshen a prim, virginal booksmith from stacks of the Greater Phoenix Metro Library System's Chandler branch?
Perhaps even a confused attempt to win back the erstwhile love of my life using a brazen scheme to harvest a kidney from a panhandler in order to save a young boy in Bulgaria?
If you answered anything but None of the Above you failed.
Because my simple quest was to have DJ Ricky Rise at Club Levitation play a certain slow jam especially for a special young lady who had caught my fancy through her entrancing, sirenic manner--one that sent so much wayward blood to my party regions even BP tipped its oily hat.
Denny simply wanted her to know how he felt. And now our love-starved world may never realize what could have been.
Have you ever been in love, Mr. D.J. Rise?
Denny thought not.