It's as if he read my blog last night. My misogynistic coworker I now refer to as my "lecherous lothario" actually approached me regarding his "little problem". And by little problem I mean that he sees women as a dog eyes a side of beef hanging in a butcher store window. Apparently some worlds collided last night when more than one of his lady friends showed up at the same time at his hunting...I mean stomping grounds. This is a statistically strong likelihood since he goes to the same place 4 nights a week. An encounter ensued in which he was accused of being a lying, womanizing motherfucker. Or something like that. So when I got to work this morning instead of the usual tales of swordsmanship I instead sat down to a broken, defeated man.

Apparently it never occurred to him that his lifestyle would catch up with him. To hear him tell it his girls are as free-wheeling in the offering up of their genitalia as he is. I am particularly stuck on this premise because when I was a young single man I did my share of dating and I never had an opportunity for mind-blowing sex without consequence. There was always the next day thing to worry about and that very pesky thing that he was apparently born without. A conscience. But I guess that's just me and my problem.

So he is on a date with one and confronted by another. He lies and squirms his way out of most of it but in the end both get tired of his act and leave. So he "picks up a thick chick" and takes her to his nearby apartment and "bangs the piss out of her". But he leaves his shades open and one of his girlfriends (not from earlier that night) who is affectionatley referred to as "the stalker" bangs on the window. This effectively ended his encounter with "the thick chick". She freaks out, wants no part of whatever is going to happen and asks for a ride home. When he takes her to his car there is a dead raccoon on the hood.

Now at this point I had to ask where the raccoon came from. He surmises that it was road kill. Now let's take a moment to think about what one would be capable of if they will pick roadkill off of the street, put it in your car and with presumably bare hands place it on someone's car. The hygienic implications are horrific, never mind the psycho-social parameters here. So then I ask what he did next. He replied that he knocked it off his hood and gave his girl toy a ride back to the bar.

So the crowd is silent. We usually prepare for a good tale each Monday Morning. We add up the girls mentioned, divide by 3 and laugh along because it's harmless, vicarious fun. Not today. Noone is laughing. It is downright uncomfortable at this point and the crowd scatters. But he is still sitting next to my desk. My opinion was sought and I offered up my standard answer. I told  him that he should knock it off, start being a little more mature in his love life and to basically grow the fuck up. And I ventured a little more this time, I told him to be very careful with Glenn Close Jr with the roadkill. He agreed and slunk back to his desk to "reevaluate some things". It occurred to me that I didn't try too hard this time because I truly think it will not resonate with him.

An hour or so later I hear him two desks away on his cell phone."hey sweetheart, that was some fun last night. Do you want to get a drink tonight?"

I give up.