Stand up sketch

Dating apps already hate me. The bedroom just finishes the job.

I match with a girl. We talk. She comes over. Clothes start coming off and she does the full scan again—head, face, then the leg that looks like it lost a bet with a curb. She goes, "Okay... so how does this work?"

I said, "Carefully. And with low expectations."

We get into it. I'm behind her and the leg is already filing a complaint. It doesn't bend right, so every thrust looks like I'm trying to park a shopping cart with one wheel. She looks back and goes, "Are you... limping while you're fucking me?"

I said, "I'm committed to the bit."

She said, "It's not a bit if you can't get deep."

The bald head becomes a problem too. No hair to grab. She reaches up, gets a handful of nothing, and just goes, "This is bullshit."

I said, "You can slap it. It echoes. Free sound effects."

She tried. It echoed. She laughed, then stopped laughing when she realized the laugh killed whatever momentum I had left.

Face doesn't help. I go down on her and she taps my head after a minute.

"You're breathing weird."

I come up. "That's just my face. It does that."

She stares at it. "It looks like it's apologizing while it's down there."

I said, "It is. The mouth has been apologizing since birth. The rest of the face just joined the group chat."

One girl wanted to ride me. Climbs on, looks down at the leg situation, and goes, "I'm gonna have to do most of the work, huh?"

I said, "Yeah. Think of me as a sturdy paperweight with a pulse."

She starts moving. The leg twitches wrong and almost bucks her off. She stops.

"Did your leg just try to yeet me?"

I said, "It has trust issues. And depth issues. And issues."

She got off, sat on the edge of the bed, and said, "I've had worse. But I've also had better from guys who could at least stay in one position without a joint voting against them."

Another time a girl asked if the carpet matched the drapes. I said, "There are no drapes. And the carpet left with the hair. You're looking at the subfloor."

She checked. Nodded. "At least it's consistent."

Then she saw the leg and went, "Never mind. Inconsistent."

I finished early on that one. Obviously. She patted the dome like it was a dog that finally sat and said, "Good boy. Next time maybe last long enough for the leg to get tired too."

I still try. Somebody's gotta represent the shiny heads, the faces that look like rough drafts, and the legs that show up to sex already in a bad mood.

Most nights I just end up explaining the equipment while it's still attached.

At least when they leave, they leave with a story.

And I leave with one sock and the knowledge that my own body is the biggest cockblock I've ever met