It was just like any other modern day girlfriend get-together. Two hot young(ish) girls with perky breasts (fine - post-partum breasts in miracle bras) stopping in a tattoo shop for a spontaneous evening of inking that had been planned for months. Giggling over boys (men) who drove them crazy in bed (fine, their husbands), confessing sins and gossiping with wide eager-to-share eyes, loudly, over the zap-zap-zapppp of the needles permanently branding their skin. Loud rock music was blaring, the kind that made you wish for legalization and healthcare reform all at once, stacks of colorful art books that inspired bravery via tattoos sat in every available space and a girl in the corner was leaning over a stool, getting her lower ass cheek tattoo'd while she sucked suggestively on a Tootsie Pop.
Giddy from hours of the good kind of pain that left us (so much for two youngish girls, huh?) permanently tied and creatively marked, we hopped in our topless Jeep Wrangler (fine, a family Suburban) and hit the nighttime highway for a night of continued debauchery and sin (or sleep - god, it was exhausting all that tattooing), the windows rolled down and the air conditioning turned up, Kanye West asking 'how do you stay faithful in a room full of ho's?' (or was it Elton John referring to some Yellow Brick Road? I can't remember) as Summer roared past us on the windy mountain roads.
Suddenly, brake lights.
Flashing lights of blue and red and yellow.
Carefully and calculatedly we manuevered our topless Jeep Wrangler (fine, family Suburban) in a decidedly dangerous three-point-turn manuever, just missing falling to our imminent deaths via the steep cliff off the moutainside (or we pulled into a driveway and turned around) to turn back around and find another route out of this one-way-out town.
In the darkness, I could see her eyes and she could see mine. We knew we were fucked. I mean, THIS is how horror movies start. We both knew this.
I blurted out, "I'm wearing a tanktop. Girls in horror movies ALWAYS wear tanktops. I'm fucked."
QoS, her eyes fixed on the dark windy road to nowhere ahead of us, replies back, "Yeah? Well I took that quiz on Facebook. The one that asks 'What order would you die in a horror movie?' and I WAS THE FIRST ONE! I'm fucked."
"I don't have cell service up here. That's why I couldn't tweet more during our tattoos. Fucking T-Mobile!"
"My iPhone battery is dead BECAUSE I tweeted during our tattoos. Fuuccck."
"All we need now on these back lane roads in the middle of buttfuck nowhere is a flat fucking tire and the next thing you know is we'll be wandering by foot into someone's creepy-ass dark ranch asking for help and..."
And? What happened next?
Be creative, choose your own blog post ending and write it in the comments section. Winner will be chosen by Queen of Spain and I and receive a $25 Amazon.com gift card AND #suckit stickers from Erin. Enter as many times as you want - each comment = one entry. Contest runs through Tuesday, August 25, 2009 ending at 9:00 PM Pacific Time.