2004-05-10 - 12:22 p.m.
On Saturday, Pencopal and AgentCrunked cast their drunken shadows across New Hope, Pa. Yes, New Hope, where rich fucks, college kids, gays, Hells Angels, and those of us who fall somewhere in between meet up and mingle on Main Street. AgentCrunked�s manly chest, and blue �Ride Me� t-shirt (complete with saddle and mechanical bull) stretched across said manly chest, captured many an eye. As did Pencopal�s hard, yet ladylike, sculpted guns, which protruded from her cap sleeved shirt.
The day was blessed. At a mere 63 degrees and sunny, Pencopal and AgentCrunked ate lunch and got tipsy while talking about fucking, farting, music, and mayhem (not necessarily in that order). While they traded stories about their respective lives, Pencopal regarded AgentCrunked, thinking about how hard it must be to be a gay man looking for true love, while AgentCrunked thought about how gross and boring it must be to be a heterosexual breeder. Let�s call it a draw. Pencopal hurriedly left the room when AgentCrunked�s favorite song, �Toxic,� came on, lest she lose her lunch and her bowels from the disgusting strains of Spears� voice. AgentCrunked exited stage left when Pencopal�s favorite song, �This Love,� came on, lest he regurgitate his margarita from too much Maroon 5.
Though their musical tastes were different (though some would say both sucked), their idea of fun was one and the same. They entered Night Owl vintage clothing store, while Pencopal drunkenly sang Carole King�s �I�m a night owl, honey, I sleep all day lo-oong.� Yes, her humor is quite obvious. The cashier, rocking a ZZ Top beard in its infant stages, eavesdropped on the fun that was Pencopal and AgentCrunked, picked up on one of their catch phrases and kept using it. It�s always fun when outsiders want to join the party. Pencopal tried on a Heidi-style dress that was too tight to be zipped over her back. AgentCrunked advised her to suck it in, but how can a girl suck in muscle? It wasn�t her stomach, it was her back! Pencopal laughingly referred to herself as �thick in the back, cute in the rack,� to ease her embarrassment. After they finished playing with the clothes and the cashier, they stumbled into store called �Toys for Men,� thinking AgentCrunked could at last get that pair of crotchless bunny boxers, like the ones found in the Neverland Ranch raid. Unfortunately, it was an actual toy store. Bummer. They bought a box of Bertie Bott�s Every Flavor Beans, and sat on a bench, forcing the other to eat jellybeans with flavors like booger, earthworm, vomit, soap, and sardine. They laughed joyously while spitting the candy all over pristine Main Street. Rich fucks with their palm-sized dogs walked precariously through the jellybean minefield, and looked with disdain at the two friends. But they didn�t care. On Pencopal and AgentCrunked Day, there was no judgment, there was no one else that mattered but the two friends.
That day, there was no war in Iraq, no sodomized prisoners, no failure of a president, no impending doom of terrorism. There was only the giddy, natural happiness of exposing their inner kids and letting them play.
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