You Told me Your Dog was Tibetan

I met you at "Bar" in the West Village. You were old, like white hair old and drinking alone. I was actually trying to make eye contact with the guy sitting on the other side of you who was under 50. You were chummy until you made fun of my being from Texas, and you also planted an unwanted surprise kiss on the cheek. You claimed your wife was at home in your million dollar penthouse and that you were up for a Nobel Prize. You pulled out some pretty good BS about what you did to deserve a nomination, but I couldn't follow. To top it all off, you told me you were going to drive home inebriated in your BMW that was parked down the street. In it waiting for you was your Tibetan dog. Then you asked if I wanted to see your car, which I took as code for: "OLD SEX?" If you see this, please mail me your dog because it deserves better--like beer--while it waits for your drunk ass.