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idiotprufs

Read by four out of five drunken monkeys, written by the fifth.

Archive for the tag “Notting Hill”

That’s Why

idiotprufs hugh grant julia roberts

Be careful Hugh, it’s a trap.

You’re sitting there casually watching the chick flick of her choice. It’s not a bad movie, you’re enjoying its whimsical humor. About two-thirds through the movie, just as you’ve actually become emotionally invested in the characters, she suddenly turns to you and pops this landmine under your feet: do you think Julia Roberts is pretty than me?

The following conversation results:

Her: Do you think Julia Roberts is prettier than me?

(You hear the landmine click, you’re afraid to move.)

You: Um…I don’t know.

Her: It’s a simple question. Do you think she’s prettier than me or not?

You: Of course not, you’re much prettier.

(You think you may have defused the landmine, but you’re still afraid to take a step.)

Her: Why are you being a liar?

(Nope.)

Her: If you think she’s pretty you can say so.

You: Okay. I think Julia Roberts is attractive.

Her: Which is it? Is she pretty or is she attractive?’

You: What’s the difference?

Her: If you don’t know the difference between the two words, how can properly use either one?

You: I guess I would say she’s very attractive.

Her: Oh, so now she’s very attractive. Is she gorgeous?

You: I guess to some guys.

Her: What kind of guys?

You: Guys who…have the ability of sight.

(Several moments of uncomfortable silence.)

Her: I guess you wish I looked like Julia Roberts.

You: No. I don’t need a girl who’s gorgeous, you’re fine.

(The sheer stupidity of the statement hits you immediately before she does.)

Her: Do you want to know what I wish?

You: I sincerely doubt it.

Her: I wish you looked like Hugh Grant.

You: I wish I looked like Hugh Grant.

Her: You do?

You: Sure. Then I could find a girlfriend that looks like Julia Roberts.

(Deafening silence. You can’t stand on the landmine much longer before your legs give out.)

Her: Maybe I should just make an appointment with a plastic surgeon tomorrow, and get all my horrible flaws fixed.

You: Don’t bother, the plastic surgeon can’t fix bitchy.

(Boom! Body parts are everywhere.)

And that’s why you’re still single.

Note: How did the movie end? I’ll bet Hugh got the girl didn’t he?

cupid fat idiotprufs

Bend over, buddy, I need a big target.

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