Ridiculousness. A girl about 15 years of age, dressed in clothes way too tight for her body frame, was running about The Roxy tonight yelling, “Free hugs! Who wants free hugs!?” However, there was something about her that made one hesitate to do so. She was covered in suds. That’s right, bubbles. The girl was dowsed in clumps of soapy, foamy, pine-scented bubbles. She pranced about, swinging her pudgy arms, and rubbing up against whatever guy she could. I felt such pity for every male who was unable to defend himself from a mouthful of soapy inconsideration.

Did she really think it would be cool to act in such a manner? Did she really think the guys would suddenly find her appealing and attractive because she was covered in wet bubbles?

The night ended and we left to catch the early ferry back home. As we passed through the Roxy’s doors, I suddenly thought to myself, How was that girl able to do that, anyway? Where are the bubbles?

We walked about ten yards down the street whereafter I saw the fountain. Bubbles were produced at such a rapid rate, much of the foamy white suds were beginning to pour over into the streets. They had taken Dawn or some other dishwasher liquid and squirted the material into the fountain’s statue, whose form I could not identify due to the fact it was covered in bubbles.

Bubbles. I don’t think I’ve ever said the word so many times in one night. Bubbles. It’s quite a funny word when you think about it. Bub-bles.

Girls, I tell you now, guys won’t like you if you’re covered in bubbles. Just smile and look them in the eye–that’s all the attraction you need.

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