Masturbator Freaky Deak (FACEBOOK)

"Once a freak, always a Deak"

Whether it be salting the chimney, skinning the snowman's carrot, or flogging the eggnog in preparation for the holidays, the only thing that comes to mind this Christmas season is the Masturbator Freaky Deak.

The Deakurbator and his hands of fury were a high school engima from years past who Dar met through a mutual friend at a track meet. He seemed deakless enough, so after much persistence she relented and gave him her number. But then on one fateful night when all through Dar's house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse....I hate to wax-poetic but in the spirit of the holidays I'll carry on:  

As Dar was hitting the pillow she then heard her phone,
And on the line was Deak with a deep breath and a moan.
Soon thereafter she heard what sounded like a splatter,
The only vision she had was of her angel food cake batter.
Dar immediately sprung out of bed like an elf,
It was apparent he was touching himself.
She thought to herself good riddance out of mind out of sight,
"Your hands will be the only stimulation you'll ever have, don't call me again, goodnight!"

That was the end of the Masturbator Deak - until the day Dar got Facebook. And it shouldn't come as a big surprise that his hands were at it again:

I think it goes without saying that Dar won't be meeting up with Jolly Old Saint Dick/Deak for any of his hand churned eggnog this weekend.

Whipped Cream Freaky Deak

"Deakie Deakie Deakie can't you see, none of your words will whipnotize me"

Out for Sunday Funday to watch football this past weekend but what it would become was actually Sundae Funday:  2 scoops of freak and a deak on top (and just to clarify, there was no sprinkling of sexual innuendo in that depiction).

Dar and I hit up a sports bar in Faneuil Hall to catch the Patriots/Steelers game, minding to our brewskies while discussing how tight end rookie Gronkowski was creaming the Pittsburgh defense. I portioned out my day for only one serving of insufferable convo - the obligatory debate on whether Brady's tresses look like Justin Bieber's. Nowhere in the dietary plan did I make room for our subsequent run in with Whipped Cream Freaky Deak.

It was the beginning of the 4th quarter and we had just begun looking ahead to next week's Indy game, planning our great escape to dinner before the discourse shifted to the amount of dandruff Brady's coif produces. But as we got up, a well known Deak Estate Developer and Car Deakership Owner who we know only in passing from frequenting The Tits (hotel bar where Old Senator Freaky Deak deaktacked a few weeks ago), arrive and barricade us in at the bar.

Some small talk is made for good Tits measure and we soon announce our dinner departure...to no avail. The Deaks slyly order each of us 2 more beers and 2 Patron shots, locking us into more deaktime and a soliloquy on how the aforementioned locks are stabilizing our QB's balance for improved throwing accuracy. We expedite the drinks down our throats and are more than locked and loaded to leave. The Deak Estate Developer is now sucking face with a woman who turns out to be his engaged assistant so the coast seems clear. 

But as we thank them for our 8 drinks in 10 minutes, and likely save Deak from a sexual harassment lawsuit, they tell us they're coming with. We pull out every deakscuse in the book of deakdom but what can I say, it's a deaky world and we're just living in it.

Next thing you know Dar and I are sitting with Duos Deak at a swanky Waterfront eatery, having the ever so intellectually stimulating discussion on environmentally friendly shampoo. Things seem under deaktrol for the first 20 minutes but that doesn't sustain. Out of deak field the "harmless" Deak Estate Developer starts talking about "the things he is going to do to me after dinner" as he's been "peeled" to me all night. I ask him if he's confusing me with the betrothed deaka from earlier, trying to un-deak the focus from me. But soon thereafter, he asks our waitress for a can of whipped cream "for a nightcap," consequently emulsifying him into the Whipped Cream Freaky Deak.

It's now time for us to banana split.



Freaky Deaky One Liners: What Not to Say

Introducing a new segment today titled,  "Freaky Deaky One Liners: What Not To Say" - pick up lines used on us by Freaky Deaks around the world.

Enjoy our first official non-functioning pick up line:

"Given the opportunity, I would French kiss both of you"

Clearly these aren't for the faint of heart...

UPDATE: White Little Richie Freaky Deak (TEXT)

"A voicemail vasectomy???"

As you might remember, White Little Richie Freaky Deak, the deakical act we met back in September, claimed in a message that texting was too sterile for him and his preference was for voicemails. But since there was no response from Dar to Voicemail 1, Voicemail 2, Voicemail 3 and countless others, it appears he finally snipped them from his repertoire. Yet however unimportant/impotent he finds text messages, he seems to have strapped a pair on, and shot out a huge textual load:

Whether it be voicemails or text messages, he's shooting blanks...

Prostitute Freaky Deaka

"Obsessive-Compulsive Prostitute or O.C.P.:  noun, defined as a prostitute who is obsessed with cleanliness"

First official post on a Freaky Deaka (feminine verbage of Deak), but I'm not sure we should get the champagne flowing quite yet. We do have to get over the emotional herpes, I mean hurdle, of interacting with a whore...

So Dar and I were in Vegas this past weekend on one of our bi-monthly business of pleasure trips - and just to clarify, the operative word here is not "bi" - when we had a run in with a compulsively hygienic and seemingly innocent lady, otherwise known as the Prostitute Freaky Deaka.

We were posted up at the Venetian Hotel casino after a mesmerizing night at Tao watching men in wheelchairs dance/roll on their dubs with scantily clad women, getting fodder for our forthcoming dissertation titled "The Laws of Attraction: Over the Limit, Under the Influence, and Between the Sheets". Our eyes and Dar's feet would soon find out what these women were all about...

As we were sitting by the slots, or sluts as it turned out, waiting for our chaperone of a friend Bryan to cash in his poker chips, a posse of clubby looking deakas in their twenties approach us to admire our pink and black get-ups. We're all about female empowerment by means of boosting the confidence of other women, so we return the deakaments. Some harmless conversation ensues and soon thereafter, we have established that Dar and the soon to be anointed Prostitute Freaky Deaka lived in the same town in Cali a few years prior. During this most riveting of conversations, a person walks by and spills a drink on Dar's shoes, inciting the Deaka-stitute to have an utter deakdown. She incessantly asks Dar if she can wash her feet, but Dar is weary of the rub down.  Eventually Dar gives in, so Deaka grabs her by the hand and brings her to a bathroom about a mile away.

Next thing you know Dar's sitting on a toilet while Prostitute Freaky Deaka and her Street-a-Deak Walking Crew are soaping Dar's feet and shoes, cleaning them from what looked to me to be a vodka soda, an elixir I generally use to clean stains.

All of a sudden we hear the sounds of walkie-talkies and male voices at the door. Our new D.B.F.'s (deaka best friends) seem startled. Four men in uniform enter bathroom and announce, "This is the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department and we are responding to a call from the Venetian security force for two counts of trespassing and harassment."

Dar and I look at each other with bewilderment and terror. How did we manage to get the police on our tail in the most liberal of U.S. cities? And yes, tail turns out to be the operative word.

Three of the officers wrangle up the deakas while the remaining officer takes Dar and I to the side. He says, "Do you realize you're fraternizing with some of Vegas's finest hookers?"

Ok, I don't live under a rock but prostitutes? Really? I say, "I'm not trying to interject here but I think we were thrown for a loop by the fact that they were so concerned with cleanliness."

"Well you know what they say, "No glove, no love. No shampoo, no screw," he says with a wink.

With all this introspection of how the Vegas deaka-counter ensued, I don't think I can hold out from the bubbly much longer. But I suppose we should pour prudently into the flutes so there's no mess, in deference to the O.C.P. Prostitute Freaky Deaka.

UPDATE: Young Senator Freaky Deak

"Pin the tail on the jackass"

Just picked up a call assuming it was a status update from my sculptor on my commissioned Swarovski crystal donkey installation and instead it's the Young Senator Freaky Deak, the married-with-child Democratic politician I met in Newport a couple weeks back.

Before I could even digest the cosmic meaning of why my life was coming up jackasses, Deakitician says he has the most amazing news for me. I jump to the conclusion that he has designated a spot for me on his re-election campaign as fundraising coordinator for the young professionals, and I begin to conceptualize the inaugural event. In two months my donkey installation will be complete so I can lend it to the political operative gratis, albeit I get clearance from the state's campaign financing committee. The sculpture will then function as the buffet centerpiece at the W Hotel kickoff banquet titled "Donkeying for a New Democracy."

But my pipe dreams go up in smoke and Deak ejaculates (for lack of a better word) the most pungent spewing of drivel ever: "Now we can finally consummate our feelings. I'm getting a divorce!"

I am speechless and can barely swallow this admission/emission. Finally I say, "Why? From everything you've told me you have the most amazing wife and baby. People go through adversarial circumstances but there is counseling and ways to come out on top."

He responds, "On top is where I want you to be."

I deak-out and my heart races 100 deakometers per minute. "I don't think you should be saying this to me...This is getting weird," I deaknounce.

"No, no, no. You shouldn't feel that way at all. It's iffy right now but I really want you to come over and we can talk this through. Just not quite yet. I can't let my doorman see me bringing you over until things get more squared away with her, not to mention the surveillance cameras. But soon enough," Deak says.

What deaklusional realm of the universe does he live in? I tell him I have to run, not before reiterating the benefits of couples counseling, even though I personally think that psychoanalysis is jackass-inine.

My own version of the freakin deakin Mr. Ed song keeps playing in my head:

A horse is a horse, of course of course,
But I am not, nor refuse to be,
The source, or centrifugal force,
That is, of course, if we're talking deakvorce.

UPDATE: White Little Richie Freaky Deak (VOICEMAIL)

"If at a millionth time you don't succeed, don't try again..."

White Little Richie Freaky Deak sure likes to hear his own voice and self proclaimed musical ingenuity as heard in his 10+ jam sessions he's left on Dar's voicemail since the "Text is alright, but it's too sterile for me" message. Here's his latest performance, recorded last night:

Beethoven/Mozart he's not, but deaknomenon.....absolutely.

HOT 97.5 FM Freaky Deak (FACEBOOK)

"Freaky Deakeo killed the radio star"

This is Deejay Mel and the Deaktractors spinning the latest "Meet and Deak" mix on Deak Radio 2.0 and HOT 97.5 FM Freaky Deak grabs the number 1 spot on today's Deakshow countdown. Enjoy the stalkery rhythms and calculating cadences of the HOT 97.5 FM Freaky Deak.

As you probably ascertained, I'm trying to get on the same wavelength of HOT 97.5 FM Freaky Deak, in order to understand what jarring frequency he's on. So a couple weeks ago, Dar and I are out for a friend's bday at a Boston club usually not travelled by us, when we happened upon a little contest for a Mercedes, being hosted on air by HOT 97.5 FM Freaky Deak.

The forthcoming deejay scenario would have been completely averted if Dar listened to me tell her that the Mercedes up for grabs looked like an impounded drug trafficking vehicle featured on one of those police auction commercials that just happened to have a Mercedes hood charm strapped to the front. But we're not ones to live in the rearview mirror, shitbox or not, so what's deak is done and done is deak.

We scribble our names down on the sign-up sheet and next thing you know, we are on air with HOT 97.5 FM Deak, rolling dice for rustbucket. He tells us that if you roll "HOT 97.5" in that order you will become the proud owner of an arrest warrant, I mean luxury vehicle. Luck be my lady Dar and she rolls "HOT" which apparently equals absolutely nothing but she somehow manages to swindle him for a $200 gift certificate to the bar. I roll "MJ4E" on my turn, and apathetically convince Deak-jay that it stands for "Michael Jackson Forever," and collect a not too shabby $100. Clearly the prospect of becoming on air personalities pales in comparison to our Create Our Own Consolation Prize and we depart for more thirst quenching pastures.

While the high cost of drinks did put a limit on the $300, let's see that's about 8 drinks each, minus spillage, drink gifting to friends, and the obligatory roofied throwaway, you still might be Creating Your Own Conclusion on what deakveloped. But the only grease we took home with us that night was an XL pizza, hold the deak.

And thus, when Dar received HOT 97.5 FM Freaky Deak's Facebook message a few days ago, we had to put the events on replay and deakpeat, in order to even recall this character. I guess for Deak-jay, chatting on air constituted genuine conversation:

There's dead air right now...

Young Senator Freaky Deak

"Two senators erect?!"
Oh boyyyyyyy what a week! And when I say boy, I don't mean an underage intern who has been inappropriately subjected to the predatory actions of multiple public servants. But if you swap out the sex, age, and profession of the victim and keep the assailants in tact, you might know where I'm headed...

Just when I thought the Old Senator Freaky Deak fulfilled my bi-yearly Massachusetts State Deakitician quota, I had a run-in with the Young Senator Freaky Deak last night in Newport. Okay, he's a State Rep, but for the sake of uniformity let's call him a senator. So Dar and I are on a business of pleasure trip in R.I. and as we're grabbing sustenance outside at the Black Pearl on the wharf, enjoying one of the last mild nights of fall in New England, Young Senator Freaky Deak and his equally deaky brother encroach upon our table.

Deakitician claims to be playing deakman for his unattached brother who has seemingly taken a liking to Dar. He assures me he is a happily married man who has a beautiful wife and newborn. To prove his devotion, he pulls out a photo of his baby, and talks incessantly about his family. The Brothers Deak insist on ordering up drinks for us, even though we were fully stocked, or more accurately stalked. We talk a little bit of this, a little bit of that, and before you know it, Deak wants me to run the young professional component of his re-election campaign. Considering I could potentially get paid to throw parties, I oblige and give him my number.

Meanwhile brother Deak is all up in Dar's personal space, and next thing you know, Young Senator Deak's hand is caressing my shoulder. I push him off and Dar and I discreetly signal to each other that things have taken an iffy turn. To reverse the inadvertent date scenario, I suggest that we transition over to the bar.

But the bar only seems to exacerbate the situation as now that we're standing up, he can put a firm hold on my waist. He plays innocent and tells me he is only being touchy to make all other guys in the bar jealous. But when Deak starts doing the shimmy into my chest and then face, and asks to come back to our hotel for a nightcap, I realize it's time to deakpart.

UPDATE: Husband Freaky Deak (TEXT)

"You're being serviced...with divorce papers"

Husband Freaky Deak has reverted to texting me, the same person he called a "bubble head", since his texts to Dar fell on deaf ears:

It's undeniable things are irreconcilable and needless to say the deakvorce is imminent. It's just a matter of working out the terms of the settlement, and when I say settlement, forget about the Newport mansion and the Aspen condo. The sole term of the agreement is to never contact us ever again.

Old Senator Freaky Deak

"Your erection won't win my election"

At an exclusive hotel bar in Boston that rhymes with tits the other night for our weekly Mel Squared Night (a night out with my dark haired Mel counterpart) when Old Senator Freaky Deak projectile launches into my blue dress, Clinton style. He proceeds to tell us about his political pedigree from former mayor of a large MA city to state senator, a position he has held since my inauguration into this world.

Deakitician, who looks to be pushing 75, boasts about his penthouse pad at the hotel residences and asks us what we are sipping and noshing on. Namely because we have to practically refinance our apartments everytime we got to The Tits for dirties and burgs, and since Extra Dirty Drinkmaker Dave whispers to us that Deak is harmless and will help me push a piece of alcohol by volume legislation, we entertain him White House Social Secretary style.

Soon thereafter, a cheap looking blonde chick, who appears no older than 22, walks in and glares/stares us down, and I'd be remiss not to mention the special edition LV handbag she is carrying. Extra Dirty Dave lets us know that she has been dating Deak on and off for a few months. He overshares to us that the word in the city is he's hung like a horse, or a donkey to be more deakitically correct, and that his cash flow from private ventures keeps the under 30 deak-diggers flocking like a politician to a bathroom stall.

Even with Dollar Signs Deaka prowling around, Deak won't leave my side. He inquires about my aspirations, which I probably should have told him were life, liberty, and the pursuit of non-deakiness, but instead I pontificate about how I have a patent for a vodka based wine cooler that has an alcohol proof rivaling moonshine. The vintage politico invites me to his upstairs crib for a vintage bottle of wine to further discuss how he's going to get my bill heard on the senate floor through such means as a cocktail hour in the State House Library. While the prospect of getting my legislation passed is enticing, I obviously decline his offer although not without the obligatory business card exchange.

So yesterday I'm sitting in my office and the secretary calls me to say she has a so and so on the phone and even though I'm seeing and breathing olives, I am still able to associate said name to a deak. I tell her to put him straight to voicemail. Of course it's the Old Senator Freaky Deak who says he had the most sensational time with me last night but is very unhappy that I stood him up for our lunch date, a date that never existed even in the deakiest of universes where the sky rains extra dirties, and children play soccer with bleu cheese stuffed olives.

UPDATE: White Little Richie Freaky Deak (VOICEMAIL)

"You're harder to get ahold of than the first lady"
Dar's voicemail has apparently become White Little Richie Freaky Deak's own personal recording studio as heard in this morning's message:

UPDATE: Naked Hitchhiker Freaky Deak

"Pitching a tent"

It has now been confirmed--Naked Hitchhiker Freaky Deak is the proud owner of a pay as you go phone! He finally bought a phone to stay in communicado with Dar. Deak just called Dar and asked her to move into his tent on the Vineyard. He said that the first time they were apart for a few minutes at the beach, it wasn't so bad. But now, since they are so insanely in love, the separation is killing him.

Wonder who will get the side of the bed, I mean sleeping bag, closest to the bathroom, I mean forest???

White Little Richie Freaky Deak (VOICEMAIL)

"Tutti Frutti, no booty"
Here's an exercise in visual deakalization. Think Little Richard but white with even more geometric facial hair, a few extra lbs, a fluffier Jheri curl and an even heavier helping of deakical freakiness. Less than a week ago after making the trek to Vermont to see a rather well known folk artist, we had a run in with the White Little Richie Freaky Deak.

Two minutes into the concert, we're approached by White Little Richie Deak, otherwise known as the opening act, who invites us to the VIP section. We agree to go: a) because we were having a hard time seeing and breathing over the unshowered Stevie Nicks's bird nests, and b) because we figured he had the 411 on the after party. But to quote the self-proclaimed architect of Rock N' Roll Mr. Little Richie, "Good Golly Miss Molly", we had no idea how high of creep on the deakical scale we had on our hands. Minutes upon entering VIP, he says to Dar, "Now I really know you're an angel. Our pinkies just touched on the banister and I felt a little piece of heaven."

Well fortunately we caught a break when Deak gets a call to go backstage. Without thinking we give him our number for the soul purpose of getting an invite to the after party.

And now without further ado, I present to you last night's voicemail from the White Little Richie Freaky Deak:

A-Wop-Bop-A-Loo-Lop A-Lop-Bam-Boo, all I gotta say it Eww-Eww-Eww...

UPDATE: Naked Hitchhiker Freaky Deak (TEXT)

"The stoner is a phoner"
Based on the area code and the green vernacular, it looks like the Naked Hitchhiker Freaky Deak just got a cell phone:

We'll corroborate that it's Hitchhiker Deak when he texts Dar "Hey bud", "Ur dope", or "Dank u".

UPDATE: Husband Freaky Deak (TEXT)

"There seems to be a wedge in our marriage..."
Husband Deak seems to be in denial about Dar and his impending divorce. The following texts have accumulated since Lake Deaky-Pasaki:

Doorman Freaky Deak

"Can I get the door...to your bedroom"

About ready to check my underwear drawer for fear the deplorable of a Doorman Deak has become one of the main consumers of my bloomers...

So a couple of days ago I was meeting my friends in the lobby of my building and a 40-something-year-old nerdy doorman I've never seen before approaches me and says, "Love your outfit, the color scheme totally matches your apartment. Those vibrant yellows and reds on your purse totally jive well with your cartoon sculpture and all of your wall decor."

Last I checked I don't live at the Aquarium of Deak where my life is a fishbowl. I immediately countered, "How do you know which one is my apartment?" He responded as if I was missing the obvious connection, "I was the one who let Comcast in last week, my name is Kevin."

Is there some technology I'm not aware of that transmits a telepathic signal of a resident's name and apartment number when they walk by? Unless I've been in a telecommunications holding pattern it seems to me that Doorman Freaky Deak was doing a driveby on my personal photos, most of which are in my bedroom.

Well the story doesn't end there. Yesterday I'm walking into my building and I see Doorman Freaky Deak a mile away so I opt for the revolving door to avoid a confrontation but of course he sees me and grabs my arm and the conversation goes as follows:

Doorman Deak: Lula, Lala, or is it Lela?
Me: No, my name is Mel.
Doorman Deak: No, I'm not talking about your name. I know your name silly. I'm talking about your doggy's name?
Me: I don't have a dog and last time I checked there was a strict policy against having dogs here. Did that change? (My mind was racing a million miles a second on what hue of red chenille upholstery I would buy for my new puppy's dog bed).
Doorman Deak: No, not your real doggy, that sculpture in your apartment, you know the cartoon one that echoes your bold color choices? I looked it over for awhile and it has a similar facial structure to a dog.
Me: Betty Boop?
Doorman Deak: Yes, I guess that's it.

I abruptly walked away. I could just see the conversation shifting to, "Cotton briefs, lace thongs, or latex g-strings? Well based on your palette, definitely latex g-strings."

I'm now considering putting a double bolt lock on my underwear drawer or jumping the hurdles and buying some not so sexy girdles.

Turkish Alex Freaky Deak (TEXT)

"Textually assaulted"

I'm in dire need of some Text-Trex, treatment for the Textual Eruption my phone just experienced:

Totally perplexed by the previous texts...

Backstory or lack thereof: In DC for the weekend and grabbed dinner/drinks with my friend Ashlee or Assel in Turkish I suppose??? last night at Old Ebbitt's when Turkish Alex Freaky Deak approached us saying that he was learning how to speak to American women and could use our guidance. It might be the Nation's Capital but who are we, the United Nations of Deak or the Ambassador to Deakiness? We not so politely declined but hours later upon our exit, Deak, accompanied by his friend, followed us down the street saying he had been waiting for us all night. His friend apologized on his behalf for his deakiness and said they weren't really friends, just acquaintances. We chatted with Acquaintance Deak for a quick minute. Feeling slightly sorry he even knew The Jerk of a Turk Deak, I gave him my number as we got in cab. End of story.

Currently trying to get rid of the T.T.D. (Textually Transmitted Disease) my phone is suffering from.

Foot Washer Freaky Deak/Husband Freaky Deak

"I want to see what's under your toe nails"

"I now pronounce you husband deak and wife"

What a freaking deaking lakehouse
disaster!

Driving back now from a rustic Lake Winnipesaukee adventure filled with mutual friends we've never really met, septic systems that didn't work, and older men whose baggage was packed with more than just a few pairs of swimming trunks - children, ex-wives, estranged wives, and not to be outdone by wives up the wazoo.

So our friend Tara lured us up to Lake Deaky-Pasaki for the night and it was a game of cat and mouse trying to keep out of arms reach of middle-aged deaks.

When we arrived it was duller than the hair color the deaks were sporting. We needed to hydrate with vodka to survive the boredom and pretty soon the deaks were trying to keep up with us, partying like it was 1985. Dar and I crashed together on the pull out couch before things got too grey (pun intended)  but the damage was already done to their hearts. In the morning the Deak Posse ferried all guests back to mainland minus the 2 of us and so we were stranded at Lake Deaky. Rehydration (more vodka) was more than necessary.

Foot Washer Freaky Deak was sitting in the hot tub all morning, enjoying the only stimulation he could get -the jets- when he asked to clean my feet. The only reason I accommodated his request was that I was about to contaminate my Louboutin lake flats. Within minutes he was giving me the most aggressive, invasive pedicure I had ever received, complete with soap, metal tools, and serums Deak created by himself all morning by his own hands.

Meanwhile, Dar was being suffocated by what would become her Husband Freaky Deak. Deak fell in love with her at first site and was already planning her return visit the following weekend to meet his 3 children. He wanted to marry her on the spot and Foot Washer Deak suggested they do so then and there. Because I was under the influence of strange chemicals seeping in from my feet, I volunteered to be the minister. Dar didn't challenge this, likely because of the same chemicals, and was soon thereafter, married to Husband Deak as she sat in the hot tub amongst a bed of foot residue.

Cut to us calling around now for a divorce attorney and a side of prescription strength foot sanitizer. Well the good news is that Husband Freaky Deak was an Idiot Deak and didn't sign a prenup. Can't wait for the Newport Mansion next weekend and the Aspen condo this winter.

ALERT: Naked Hitchhiker Freaky Deak

"Hitchhiker in the hizzouse!"

The Naked Hitchhiker Deak is in Dar's apartment in Boston! Same deakshow we picked up on the Vineyard who got naked at the beach 10 minutes after pick up. She is freaking deaking out! He swindled her into believing he was coincidentally taking the same ferry/bus through Boston en route to Worcester. Can't believe she hasn't been able to ditch the hitch!

So per the usual, he was rolling joints/smoking during entire ferry ride, antagonizing every last patron. Not until arriving in Boston did he confess his whole scheme of following Dar to city to spend more time with her. As soon as he got to Boston he met a homeless Jamaican bum who he gave his rolling papers, weed, tobacco, cigarettes, lighter, pipe, money to, saying, "If a Jamaican can't smoke weed, then no one should be allowed to smoke weed."

There is no return bus until morning and there is no way he can fend for himself in the city so Dar was left with no other choice but to take him in. Not surprisingly he tried to disrobe but Dar told him the meatballs on the spaghetti dinner were enough balls for one night.

Side note: At time of post the Naked Hitchhiker Deak did not have cell phone.

Cop on Detail Freaky Deak

"You're arrested for being a sexy bitch!"

Back in Boston and last night Dar and I are leaving a dive on Newbury past closing, a privilege earned during the sleepless nights of college, studying and being admitted to the bar at the ripe old age of 18, and the Cop on Detail Freaky Deak says, "Why the hell are you guys leaving?" He insists/practically demands us to go back in. We're not ones to argue with authority and I didn't want to be disbarred so of course we oblige.

Within minutes Freaky Deak has changed out of uniform and is inside buying us drinks. At 4:30ish I call a headache audible and Officer Deak insists on driving us home in his brand new Chevy police cruiser, which I should mention was gorgeous, not without stopping for sustenance at our favorite Chinatown establishment. Thanks tax dollars for a night out on the town!

I guess Freaky Deak's idea of cleaning up the mean streets of Boston was by getting 2 girls in floral summer dresses off the streets. I'd say he would probably blow a 2.0 Freaky Deak on the breathalyser.

Side note: Cop Deak demanded Dar's digits. Stay tuned for any updates.

UPDATE: Naked Hitchhiker Freaky Deak

"Oh buoy do we have some explaining to do"

The Naked Hitchhiker Freaky Deak is now in Jack's cottage in Oak Bluffs naked on her sofa. He's like Goldilocks as he's spread his wild oats on every last piece of furniture trying to deak out the seat that's just right. Deak just asked for a tick check but not sure we should oblige.

So maybe we were slightly duped by his alibi of needing to get to Oak Bluffs to see his uncle or maybe it was the succulent fried seafood dinner at the Galley he bought us tonight that did us in. And we're certainly not blinded by celebrity but as it turns out, he's a well known deak! After din a middle-aged buttoned up aesthetic bore of a woman walked up to him and instead of the expected deak out for smoking on the beach, she shrieked not deaked with excitement over the fact that he found his shoes. Apparently she recently picked him up naked in the middle of the night when he was tripping on shrooms. My question is, where the hell was Boring Betty going at that time of night? Do we have a Freaky Deaka (feminine verbage) on our hands?

So since we've gotten back to the house we've tried to cloth Deak in case of visitors, angling for Dar's booty shorts to give him the least amount of fabric possible to no avail. Restriction seems to be his affliction. Currently Dar is passed out on floor and Deak is  giving her a foot massage.

 

It's going to take a wholesale club quantity of Lysol to disinfect this place, specifically the tan leather couch, from his natural man juice excretions for Jack's grandma's arrival tomorrow.

UPDATE: Naked Hitchhiker Freaky Deak

"Excuse me while I light my spliff, hope those children don't take a wiff"                            
The Naked Hitchhiker Deak just blatantly rolled a massive spliff on top of a family of 6 and in turn hastily uprooted them. Wow, talk about being deaked out big time by this scenario! We're at a beach in Menemsha waiting to watch the sunset and are being stared down by every last sunset seeking not deaking soul. I'm hoping everyone is looking at his jar of tobacco and not his population of Jamaica sized serving dish of purple haze.

Five seconds before Spliff Gate, Deak ran up to a guy with 2 lapdogs and said "Hey I remember you." We assumed he was conversing with the gentleman but then got down on 2 knees to continue discussion and suck face with his long lost pup friends. It turns out his sister dogsat them awhile back and when they eyed his pot, he gave them each a gargantuan ganja allotment and proceeded to get stoned with them. Never has "gone to the dogs" sounded more apropos.

Naked Hitchhiker Freaky Deak

"Just a slight HITCH, hope we don't end up in a ditch"
Hitchhiker we just picked up has dropped COMPLETE AND UTTER TROW at the beach! Freaky but we're admiring his nonexistent tanlines! There's children in front of us sculpting sandcastles in the shape of meat and potatoes which I should say are looking more realistic by the second! Lots of beach balls at this beach...

So Jacks, Dar, and I are on the Vineyard cruising up island to the beach and we notice this hot piece of hitchhiking ass, a shirtless Adonis of greasy wilderness with a ceramic jar of spliffs and flowers in his hair. Not only was the entertainment portion of the day still wide open but Pythagoras's Sexy Summer Fun Theorem states that summer tunes + summer road sodas + summer wind (fried dough and marina gas dock smell) = sunny but clouded inhibitions, henceforth why we we picked up the Naked Hitchhiker Freaky Deak. And not to rationalize but hitchhiking is as common as accidentally swapping spit with a
Simon/Taylor/Belushi/Shark relative on MV.

So right now we are sitting on the kid friendly, non-nude beach while the nudist part is about 10 yards away which was pointed out to us when freaky deak identified his father deak by his father's hairy and flabby ass. Big cojones seem to run in the family...