Showstopper

It's 11:30pm and has finally cooled down to 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Welcome to summertime in Phoenix - the American metropolis cleverly built three feet away from the sun. Even though you may not be able to fry an egg on the sidewalk it's still oven like, irrespective of the hour. As harsh as the natural conditions are, and amazed that the 3,700,000+ inhabitants here haven't mummified and joined the ranks of Emperor Qinshihuangdi's terracotta warriors, I'm still gingerly sweating down the thermonuclear concrete to a Friday night club. Go figure.

Inside the glass door I meet a few friends, their drinks already in hand. Surveying the bar, CPouch sharply points out minor fashion faux pas of the plastic-enhanced elite. FYI, CPouch is a lifetime member of that eccentric group... he just lacks the augmented breasts. Flaring into disgust, he turns around, an icy finger jutting out from his body and screams,"FAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!"

In two monumental waves, the crowd of gays in designer labels part. Laser eyes burning through the divided crowd, CPouch spots something small and unnoticeable to the untrained eye. Glaring at a woman 35 feet away, in a dark corner, partially obscured by three tables, five chairs, and three gay men, CPouch highlights a small tan colored moniker the size of a stamp. Bar patrons turn to see what all the hullabaloo is about. Without a periscope or his specialized retail training, no one sees anything. I ask, "Look at what, CPouch?" The woman guiltily peers back at us across the expanse of open bar floor.

To save his own hide, CPouch sidesteps out of the way and leaves B-Boo standing there face to face with the fake maker. Tossing his head back to the group, CPouch dramatically continues, "OH! The nerve of some of these people! I mean, come on! That is not a real Louis Vuitton bag! How are you going to walk around like you're the shit with something made from Designer Impostors?! Geez people! Have some dignity and get that thing out of my sight." Feigning pain he grabs his forehead, "now I think I'm developing a case of pink eye AND a migraine." He finishes his martini with one gulp.

B-Boo faces off with Ms. Made in China, then turns to face the group again, skeptically looks at CPouch, and comments, "You're crazy CPouch. Stop acting like the Moses of overpriced handbags - leading people away from the desert of fashion blunders. If it matters that much, I'll put a brick inside my purse and you can knock the leather daylights out of that poor girl without taste. Otherwise, just accept that there are some clueless people that act like their stuff doesn't reek with cheap imitations. After all, consider what bar you're standing in. Everything here is fake. You could probably detach half of the noses in here with one breath. It's a waste of time."

Thinking that I'm on subject, I jump in, "You know what New Girl at my works thinks is a waste of time? Pooing. She hates wasting time doing the deed."

Conversation stops. The group stares at me. Innocently, I smile raise up my hand, and call out into the air, "Waiter! We need another round here!"