I’m selling a used guitar, which I believe to be a Parkwood acoustic (due to the label) but I don’t remember. It was purchased during a regretful bender where the girl I was dating told me through text that she never wanted to see me again, something at the time which was unheard of considering at the time I’d paid Boost Mobile $0.10 for the text. A stellar business plan by cell phone companies but a decision I painfully regret the amount of times I got burned with just a “k”.
Anyways after about my 5th Long Island my friend decided to cut me off and take me home to my place. Little did he know, I had no intention of letting this Tuesday afternoon party train slow down. He might have had a class, but he knew me well enough to know I become the most sophisticated person when I drink Long Islands. Basically a born New Yorker, who chooses where my bathroom is, yells at women while working, and has no regard to others feelings. As he stopped at the intersection of Kilgore and Westnedge, I made my move with the classic “LOOK OVER THERE!” As soon has he turned I pressed the unlock button, opened the door, and took a step. But just as I had felt free, the seat belt reminded otherwise. BOUNK
“What the Fuck Man?” He screamed. I unbuckled and ran off. “Can you at least shut my-” “So long sucker!” I screamed. I free like the Nelly Furtado song.
I sprinted off into the the nearest building that happened to be Guitar Center. As I wondered into the acoustic room, I noticed it was mostly empty except for a pile sitting on stands in the middle of the room. A sign read “Humidifier broken” and all the guitars were severally marked down. That’s where I saw it BOOM! Like the first time Romeo gazed upon a wooden Juliet with beautiful Fishman electric parts and steel strings. “Sexy,” I thought. I picked it up, placed it on my knee, and began to strum. The sound was emasculate! All the colors of the retarded guitar tuned music alphabet (you know the EADGBe) came out one by one and blended into an orgasmic sound. Never mind how loaded I was, or how much the guitar center associate wanted me to stop screaming Pink Floyd “WERE JUST TWO LOST SOULS…… SOMETHING SOMETHING…….. FISH BOWL” Fuck ’em. I felt like a Rockstar.
After that I had to have it. I went nuts and bought a case with it too, and unheard of expense for a poor college student, who was going home to eat Ramon Noodles that night. Since then this guitar has been with me through multiple moves throughout the U.S. I love it to death, but it’s time to let it go.
In short, please buy it so I can fix my car and stop taking the train where a homeless lady next to me keeps muttering sounds that appear to be words and plays random static noises on a loud radio.