My girlfriend’s grandma will do.

[Psst. This is part of a 30 day, comedic writing challenge entitled Advice For The End Of The World. Receive all 30 days of humor here:]

Billy hadn’t gotten any since last summer when his mom caught him in the pool dry humping his girlfriend. 

Let’s be clear. 

Girlfriend was a loose term. She’d agreed to come over to his house. Given that no girl ever spoke to Billy, he was certain she wanted to blow him. At the very least, stroke his newly emerging chest hair.  

He was a virgin. 

He was entering a committed, intense phase of his life where he binge watched 1980’s Italian mafia films. He did the math .All those guys had a shit load of chest hair. The way he saw it, a little bit of chest foliage could get him to first base, at least.

If he yelled a lot, got some guns, and really committed to “the family”, he might round second. 

And let’s be honest, Billy hadn’t even stepped his ass onto the field. So there he sat poolside, all summer, lathering his concave chest with baby oil, walking around like he had a stick up his ass, hoping that by the grace of God some hair would pop out. 

That is, until Mona decided to come over. 

Mona was hot. Not pretty necessarily, but sweaty. She had a sweating problem and a small house. Billy had scoped out most of the girls in his class. He noticed that Mona was sweatier than the average gal. With a pool at his disposal, Billy made his move. 

He capitalized on her sweaty pits and small living situation and invited her over. 

But now, one year later, the world was in a state of utter warfare. Fire and water had engulfed the earth and Jesus, according to the local crack heads, was about to make a surprise visit. Billy figured that imminent death would turn girls on… make them feel dangerous and maybe, just maybe, wanna mess with a wanna-be guido down the street. 

When he discovered the world would plunge to its death in only one short week, he figured girls would be sitting on their stoops, panties in hand, inviting lonesome men into their homes.

As it turns out, an end of the world apocalypse isn’t exactly the panty dropper of the century. 

 In response to the world ending, Mona had become a hardcore Orthodox Jew. She liked the idea of the chosen people and thought it was the best chance at heaven. 

But with her now shaved head, red wig and full-on Gap funeral attire, Mona’s boobs didn’t seem so fly anymore. I mean, he couldn’t even see them and feared some Orthodox Jew bear trap underneath her ankle-long skirt. 

What did she have to hide under all those black clothes anyways? He concluded it was chest hair. Loads and loads of chest hair. 

Billy drifted along the flood waters bare chested on a raft. 

He prayed for a quick death. He applied what would be the last of his baby oil onto his chest. That’s when he saw her. 

A young woman — not a day short of 86 — was floating by him. 

She stopped her raft next to his, burped, and gazed deep into his eyes. 

This is a weird-ass woman, he thought. But he liked it. She had this cuckoo, kinda crazed look on her face. He dug it. 

Suddenly, she raised her shirt and flashed Billy. He couldn’t believe it, so he did what any respectable young man would do. 

He went for her knee and grazed her boob. 

The young woman smiled and Billy laughed. 

Take that, Mona, he gasped, oil glistening in the sun. 

I just felt up your Grandma. 

Advice for the end of the world: Be willing to change your original plan. Your life, and virginity, may depend on it. 

[his is part of a 30 day, comedic writing challenge entitled Advice For The End Of The World. Receive all 30 days of humor here:]