simtarts

"So, I couldn't help notice that you looked a little, ah, flushed when you came home from your night out," Han said. "Did you find a girl to cuddle up with?"

Chewie had insisted that there was no way Luke was getting any action from the ladies, but Chewie tended to think that if he wasn't getting any action, then no one else was, either. Han knew better. Specifically, he knew that Luke was shy enough to keep any conquests private and to himself.

"What makes you ask that?" Luke furrowed his brow, but there was a tiny grin there, too. "A gentleman never talks, you know. And he doesn't take a girl to his brother's bed for WooHoo, either!"

"Sorry about that," Han said, looking sheepish. "But you have the only double bed in the house, you know!"

"Yeah, and it's for sleeping in."

Luke told no one but his journal about what happened with Photobooth Girl. He didn't know her name, but Photobooth Girl seemed apt enough. A small part of him wished desperately that he knew her real name so he could track her down again, while an even smaller part of him found it sort of exciting that he'd had WooHoo with a virtual strange--and in public, too! Yet the logical, dominant part of him thought it was probably best they never see each other again. It would be far, far too awkward, and nothing good was bound to come from it.

Luke focused on his career, instead. Being an adventurer required a lot of physical prowess, and even though he wasn't a natural athlete, he pushed himself to the limit, slowly but surely whipping his body into shape. He would get that promotion for sure!

And if you see Photobooth Girl again, that smallest part of him whispered, you'll actually look good with your shirt off!

Luke didn't realize that his brother would find his hidden journal. It probably hadn't been very smart to "hide" it on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, but he never really saw his brothers read, so it hadn't occured to him that they'd stumble onto it.

That little brat, Chewie thought, after absorbing all of Luke's most private thoughts. Little bro's been getting laid on the sly...that'll never do. And who's this Photobooth Girl? Sounds like a real tramp--must be, if she's spreading for that twinky little Luke. I should track her down, show her what it's like to party with an alpha dog. WOOF!

Chewie had been off his game in general, lately. He'd clogged the toilet twice, then he'd been so distracted by football on the television and had left a pot of mac n' cheese on the stove too long. Good thing Luke hadn't been home when that crap had gone down, or he would have never heard the end of it! The fireman had put out the flames before anything was too damanged, so what Luke didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right? No harm, no foul.

Han hadn't taken it so well, though. He'd cried for days about the fire. You'd think he'd lost his favorite toy to the flames, or something--what a trifling baby.

Chewie had to get out of the house before he accidentally drowned in Han's tears. Yes siree, he was gonna hit the town and find that trampy blond from Luke's journal. Wait 'til she took a bite out of the old Chewster!

Chewie took a taxi to a popular club, one of the ones mentioned in Luke's journal, and traversed the perimeter. He appraised each female in turn, and his radar eventually pulled him towards a blond girl who looked like she might be on the prowl.

"Hey there, I'm Will," he said, sidling up to her. "As in Will Smith, as in Will you get jiggy with it?" He started to gyrate in front of her, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

The girl pulled a pretty unattractive face in response to the pick up. Maybe she had some bad gas rumbling 'round her innards? Chewie sometimes made faces like that when he felt a bit dump coming on. Not wanting to block her path to the toilet, he gallantly stepped aside and moved on to someone else.

Good thing, too, because the next blond he ran into looked real promising. A little long in the tooth, maybe, but she was wearing skin-tight animal print and had her twins right out on display, like two plump kittens in the window of a pet shop. Chewie oggled them appreciatively and she didn't seem to mind. Oh yeah, there was a definite trampy vibe to this one!

"I see you're carrying quite a load there," he said. "Let me help massage the kinks out of your back." He rubbed his hands together and began to squeeze her shoulders. He was disappointed to feel bra straps through her dress.

"Thank you, young man!" the blond cooed appreciatively.

"Wanna step into the photobooth with me?" Chewie said in her ear. "I hear they're quite roomy."

The blond wretched herself away, her face aghast. "Why, you're no gentleman at all! You're an uncouth lout! I suggest you learn how to speak to a lady properly, young man."

"What lady?" he snorted. Truthfully, he was disappointed. He was certain he'd been getting her motor running...he had just pushed the gas too fast.

Chewie decided he didn't have time to waste. He didn't want to butter a gal up or spend a lot of time paying her pointless compliments. He just wanted a sure-thing.

He spent a half-hour or so asking around, and was eventually directed to a gypsy woman who was wandering around outside the club.

"You don't look like any pimp I ever met before," he said, doubtful. "Maybe this is some feminist thing, female pimps? Anyway, as long as you're peddling the goods, I'm willing to pay."

"You would like a date? I can provide one for any price, but naturally the quality will vary, depending on the amount you spend," she said, and there was dangerous twinkle in her eye that Chewie didn't bother to notice.

"I don't really care about quality, just so long as she's a real tramp," Chewie said, passing over a few crumpled simoleons. With that, the pimp waved her arms over a crystal ball and a strange, otherwordly glow enveloped both of them. There was a sound like a sack of wet cement hitting the ground, and when the glow cleared, Chewie was face to face with his date.

"What the hell!" he said, outraged. "She smells like a damn sewer rat! And her face would make a freight train take a dirt road! When I said I wanted a tramp, I meant a slut, not some homeless vagrant! What kind of game are you playing at, lady?" He turned around in a circle, looking for for the pimp-gypsy, but she was nowhere to be found. He was left along with his wretch of a date.

"You better at least not have not STDs or anything," he said, glaring at her.

In response, the date let out a thunderous, sour-smelling belch, noxious enough to make Chewie pass out. When he woke up, he was in the back of a taxi, speeding home.

So that hadn't gone so well, but Chewie thought he might still be able to soften up the old blond broad. She kept coming over to the house unannounced, and seemed to get a real kick out of checking Chewie out in his pajamas.

One time, Chewie was pretty sure he heard her praising him to some chickie that Han worked with. If he played his cards right, maybe he could coerce both girls into a triple-hitter. Now that would be good--there was no way Luke's public WooHoo with Photobooth Girl could hold a candle to that!

Luke was completely oblivious to Chewie's motives; he simply focused on work as usual, and was soon rewarded with both a raise and another promotion. He was happy to have finally transcended the diving outfit. It was really, really heavy. It also smelled a bit like a tin can that had been filled with his old sweat socks.

Luke took his bonus money and went out shopping. All of his clothes were hand-me-downs from either his brothers or his Father, and it was high time he started dressing in a way that matched his success. Maybe something purple? Luke happened to think that he looked quite nice in purple.

He had to swallow back a huge gulp when the cashier told him the total, though. Who knew clothes cost so much money? He didn't--the last clothing item he had bought was a pair of socks from Structure in 2004. Luke couldn't help but feel that for that much money, clothes should be able to do more than just keep him from being naked. They should have the ability to clean out the litter box, or something, too.

Despite some regrets over the cost of his clothing, Luke decided to splash out and get his hair cut at a salon. He usually got his hair cut at Barber Joe's, where the magazines were from the 1970s and the hair was never completely swept up and instead drifted around his ankles like seaweed. Barber Joe wore an old apron and smelled like canned pork, but this stylist, as he called himself, wore a suit and smelled like big, oaky trees. His own hair was quite elaborate, which made Luke a little nervous, but he steeled himself and told the stylist "do whatever you want to me!" Then he closed his eyes and hoped for the best.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the stylist lowered the chair down and removed the plastic cape from around Luke's neck. Luke shook his head and couldn't help but notice how heavy it felt. Was he wearing a cannon-ball?

"What do you think?" The stylist asked, giving him a hand mirror.

"Wow!" Luke exclaimed. He wasn't able to see much of his hair in the mirror; it seemed like there was much more of it than before.

"I permed you. It's an extreme look but you can work it if you give a little effort. Style and fashion is pain, my friend. I would suggest pairing the hair with a leisure suit, though, to complete the whole vibe. Otherwise people might mistake you for an off-duty clown."

"But...I just spent all my money on clothes already," Luke said softly. He wished he had gone to Barber Joe. He would have looked the same, but at least he would have looked like himself.

In effort to cheer himself up, Luke decided to test-run his new look at the club where he had met Photobooth Girl. He wasn't sure if he wanted her to see him like this, but he tried to tell himself that his hair was actually really, really edgy and cool. He didn't know much about fashion and style, after all, and the stylist obviously did.

"Blue Margarita!" he said brightly, waving at the bartender.

Nursing his drink, he did his best to slouch against the bar and appear mysterious and brooding. Inside, though, his heart jumped around with anxiety. Where was Photobooth Girl? Maybe she'd found another photobooth in town to hang around in? He'd come to thing of her that way--as some supernatural, angel-like creature who haunted photobooths and lured lonely men into their depths, like a modern-day Siren.

Though Luke didn't know it at the time, his brother Chewie was in the same club as him, testing out his luck on the vomit-o-tron. Unfortunately, his luck was not holding. The machine had spit him out for the third time, and Chewie was flat out on his back, dizzy and seeing stars.

"That looks like it hurt," a female voice said.

Dazed, Chewie turned his head to the side and was greeted with a very shapely pair of legs. Who might this be? He struggled to his feet, more than eager to find out.

Oblivious to what was going on in the other room, Luke tried to mingle on the dance floor. Dancing embarrassed him deeply under the best of circumstances, though, and by now his forced confidence over his new hair was starting to leave him. Luke thought it was probably best if he left, too. He would return home with his new purple clothes and his cloud of hair and try to think of a way to regain his dignity again.

"Did you find her?" Han asked, rousing up from his nap on the couch when Luke walked in the front door.

"Find who?" Luke asked, settling in beside him.

"The girl you had your first WooHoo with. Photobooth Girl."

"How did you know about her?"

"Oh, Chewie found your journal. He was reading bits of it out loud late last night. It was pretty funny...really brought me out of my slump!"

"No, I didn't find her," Luke admitted. He wanted to be angry at Chewie for reading his journal, but he was more angry at himself--he should have hid it better.

"And even if I had found her...I'm not sure what she would think about this," Luke said, pointing at his huge afro.

"Think about what?" Han said, feigning innocence. "Oh, you mean your hair? Don't worry, it's not that BIG of a deal." On the word "big," he spread his arms wide. "Not as big as some things, I mean! Like a rhino's butt, for instance. Or a whole bulldozer. Or three very small jumbo jets."

"Thanks, you're really helping."

Han finally laughed, and Luke joined in. It was better than the alternative.

*****

The Trammpe Family is next!