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.