David Cook just wants to drink beer and sleep with hot non-stalkers
A Towson University student named Casey Prather wrote this kind of humorous tale about meeting David Cook in a bar the other night for the Towerlight, an online student publication.
Looks like Cook may have evaded his stalkers for the time being and managed to score with a hot piece of ass. He can also take potential heckling with grace and aplomb, which you just have to know is going to happen if you went on American Idol.
(And for some reason, I now want to listen to Asher Roth. I miss college. Reading this made me really, really miss college.)
Your A Idiot… if you paid money to see American Idol David Cook at Paws.
You could just have waited to see him at an uptown Towson bar, like I did.
Let it be known that I wasn’t intentionally stalking him. I do not hold false Idols, for that is a sin.
If you want someone to deify, why not choose a being that is already a deity? Then you don’t have to put in the effort of establishing a silly religion based on them. This is why I follow Dionysus (the Greek god of wine and inspirer of ecstasy), and Dionysus is the reason I was at an unnamed uptown Bar Friday night, not David Cook.
Unfortunately Dionysus was not at the bar influencing people into madness, but plenty of booze and David Cook were there as substitutes.
Not normally impressed by celebrity, I managed to contain my hysteria about David Cook being at bar in Towson to a silent grumble. I mean, imagine that, David Cook, reality television divo (the male version of a hustler?), drinking at a bar, like a real, normal red-blooded American Idol.
Well at some point in the evening I had to make the obligatory “Where the hell are you?” phone call to one of my friends. While outside, I noticed Mr. Cook leaving the bar, accompanied by a very attractive pixie-haired blonde.
I don’t know if it was the fourth beer or the seventh beer (but I’ve narrowed it down to one of those two) that motivated me to say something to him, but I turned to Mr. Cook and began to openly mock him to his face.
And you know the worst part? He laughed it off. Not in the “Ha, ha, I’m better than you” manner, but with a “Yeah, it’s whatever” attitude. Now I cannot even make fun David (we’re on a first name basis now), he’s just a normal dude, a normal millionaire dude. Jerk.
Me [in my normal disgustingly sarcastic tone]: “So, you just play PAWS café?”
David Cook [in a slightly buzzed tone]: “Yeah, you go to Towson University?”
Me [in a more indignant and arrogant tone]: “Yeah, you probably saw a couple of my boys photographing you. Big news, big news.”
David Cook [in a confused but distracted by the small blonde tone]: “Yeah, it was cool, can’t complain. I’m David.” [He reaches his hand out for an awkward white male greeting]
Not knowing how to react, I did what any person with firm stances and opinions does, I completely crumbled.
Me: “Casey.” [As I reach out to reciprocate his awkwardness]
Bastard! My attempts at demeaning the fact that he just played his music in front off hundreds of people had failed. May I point out that I was probably (and probably still am) insanely jealous of the attention and praise he received? I mean, the only way I could garner that much attention is by standing in the middle of campus and screaming about Mass Debating for an hour.
At this point in the story, another, much older dude exits the bar and asks to take DC’s photo with his phone. Luckily it was a camera-phone, otherwise I would have exclaimed and shouted there in the street about this man’s idiocy and our common drunkenness
But as I said, it was a camera-phone, and Cookie Monster offered to take a photo with the older not-so-gentleman. Being the world-renowned (that’s quite a stretch) photographer that I am, I offered to take the photo myself.
Defeated, I returned to my half-witted conversation with my half-witted friend.
Dumbass: “How do I get there?”
Me: “You go up the hill.”
Me: “You have two options. Either walk down hill and stumble your way into traffic (or Roger’s Forge) or fight gravity and walk uphill back to the bar you jackass. But hurry up, David Cook is here!”
Oh well, the Idol shrugged it off; I can respect him for that. And I can still get by on the fact that I currently still have more hair than him (just barley though). I know the side-sweeping bangs trick! At least Davey C. can take a joke, unlike a certain SGA Presidential candidate.
Oh yeah. And here is Cook with the aforementioned blonde pixie and his buddies. Cook has quite a thing for petite peroxide blondes, doesn’t he? (I also bet he prefers the Suicide Girls to sloths, but that’s just my opinion…)