.the fly boy.

the quotes from "pretty fly for a white guy" by the offspring are used without permission. don't sue me. please.

mikey strolled down rue ste. catherine, casting studly looks in every direction. his new tommy jeans billowed around his skinny legs, and his expensive new sneakers- a birthday present from his mom- thudded on the pavement. he was lookin' good. he was hot. all these girls totally wanted him.

he saw a girl who especially wanted him standing a few feet ahead, lighting a cigarette. her long blonde hair was blowing back in the breeze, and her thin dress clung to every curve. oh, she wanted him, alright. he sidled up to her. "hey, baby."

she turned to look face him. "oh, 'allo," she replied in a thick quebecois accent. "comment ca va?"

mikey winked at her. "look, baby, i don't speak no french, but... i am fluid in the universal language. know what i'm sayin?"

the girl's upper lip curled. "oui, i know what you are saying. i am not interested. please go away from me."

mikey rolled his eyes. "awww, baby, don't be like that!" he protested. "you are one fly bitch! i was thinkin we could go back to my place- later on, i mean, after my parents fall asleep- but not too late, i do got a c-iz-urfew." mikey winced. there was no way to make "i've got a curfew" sound cool.

the girl laughed. "mais non! je ne t'aime pas! allez to your mommy's home alone."

"hey," mikey protested, "i don't neva go home alone!"

"that is right!" the girl responded. "for you 'ave always rosy palm and her five sisters! and i 'ave a feeling that is who you will be with tonight." with that, she spun on her heel and walked away.