Hypocrites Are Hot

Hypocrites Are Hot 
By Smokehut 

It was, like, my lucky day. I was on my way into a basketball game at my 
high school. Just as I was walking across the parking lot, stoned out of my 
mind, chewing gum maniacally, I saw Cindy Faris duck around the side of the 
building. Oh, fuck, she looked so hot, and I knew why she was there. The 
JayVee game was probably going on. She wanted to sneak one last smoke. 

So, me being fucked up, I just walked directly over to where she stood, and 
she had a look that said, oh, fuck, what is he doing coming over here? So, 
trying to allay her doubts, I promptly fished a Marlboro Red out of the low 
pocket in my cargo pants and lit one up. Cindy hadn't done this. 

"That's so gross," Cindy said, shocking the shit out of me, "and so wrong." 

"What?" 

"You're, like, an athlete and you shouldn't be smoking," she said. 

"And you're, like, a cheerleader, and that's exactly why you came out 
here," I replied. 

She didn't deny it. She didn't fucking deny it. She reached in her purse, 
then lit a Marlboro Light. 

"It's not the same thing," she said, tilting her head back and exhaling a 
slender, thick stream. 

I was fucked up. I wasn't backing down. 

"You must be, like, the biggest fucking hypocrite on earth," I said. 

"I'm not," she said. "When you're a cheerleader, you don't have to be in 
shape. You just have to do your job. You're not trying to win a game. In 
your case, you're supposed to be in as good a shape as you can be, because 
winning isn't easy, and you, like, gotta be the best you can be." 

She had this look on her face, though, that belied her words. She was sort 
of staring at me as I blew a few defiant smoke rings. While criticizing me 
for smoking, her smoking was, at the same time, heating up. Or maybe that 
was me. 

"You through?" 

"Yes," she said, and she pouted. And she took another drag. And I got hard. 

"First of all, I ain't no fuckin' athlete no more," I said. "Football is 
over. I'm not a football player now. I'm a guitar player. Second of all, 
why the fuck do you expect football players to be wholesome and healthy and 
perfect?" 

"Because it's about being well-conditioned and ... better than the other 
team!" 

I couldn't believe this beautiful, shapely brunette, wearing the school's 
uniform, was puffing away at a cig and, at the same time, condemning me for 
doing it. Yet still, incredibly, it was, like, the hottest thing 
imaginable. Fuckin' strap me down and beat the shit out of me! 

"OK, I'm not gonna argue, but think about it," I said. "What is football 
about? It's about being mean and cruel and bloodthirsty and completely 
lacking in sympathy and compassion. It's not exactly a sport for mama's 
little boys, all right? It's got, like, Christians, but it's not the 
Christian thing to do. It's ridiculous to expect athletes to uphold some 
higher standard. 

"You think this cigarette is bad for me. Fuckin' football is bad for me. 
What you think about knee surgery? What you think about it being the first 
in four or five months where I could get out of the bed this morning 
without aching like shit? Wanna see some scars? Look. I was good enough to 
do the job better than anybody else we had. Not only that, but one of 
things that made me better at it was being less than perfect. 'Cause, 
that's, like, what it means to do whatever it takes to win, no matter 
what." 

I was on a roll, man, Cindy was the one shocked now. She was staring me 
down, though. 

"I'm tired of that shit," I said. "I want to get high, and drink, and, 
yeah, smoke, and if it all possible, get laid." 

Whoa. Brutal honesty strikes again. 

She couldn't help but smile. 

"OK, like, so maybe I was a little harsh," she said, dropping her cigarette 
and stepping on it. Mine was already gone. 

"Want another cigarette?" 

"Nah," she said. "I gotta get back in there." 

"Well," I said. "We can chew some gum. Have a Listermint strip. I'd be 
willing to be you got some." 

She just nodded, reached in her purse, pulled some out and offered me one. 

"We can just chill here for another minute," I said. "Then you can go to 
the bathroom and wash your hands thoroughly." 

"I know the drill," she said, laughing again. 

"You blaze? 

"Uh, yeah. You do, I take it?" 

"I'm baked now. What you think gave me the guts to just walk up and light 
one up? I don't give a fuck. I fuckin' love a smoke when I'm blazing." 

"Yeah, I know," Cindy said. "It's cool." 

"How much time you got after the game?" 

"Oh, I can't do nothing tonight. I gotta go home pretty quick." 

"Got some leisure time this weekend?" 

I put my arm around her waist and gave her a snug little hug. She put her 
hand on my crotch. A shock, but a comfortable one. 

"Now you run along, baby, and let me know if you want to have another smoke 
after the girls' game. Or at halftime of the boys' game," I said. 

"Will do," she said. "Now kiss me." 

It was too much of a good thing. It was hard to control. It hurt so good. 

Worth the wait, though. I got laid many times.