The good looking one, not one of the fucking doofuses. Presumably the one who sings while the other two poodle-haired oafs play tambourine and bass.
I was at the bowling alley. Place in (REDACTED city– don’t go stalk the Jonas Brothers where they bowl). On my way in I noticed a young girl in tight pink shorts perusing the rack of balls. Man, I think to myself—god damn, she is hot. Except it’s night bowling, the lanes are lit only by weird mood lights and Snoop Dogg Featuring Pharrell Williams videos and 3D animations of bowling pins dressed as rodeo cowboys dodging a ball with horns on it. So she’s hot, but she might be a well-developed thirteen year old and in that case I oughtn’t give her the full rapestare in a crowded family friendly atmosphere. She kind of looked about college age but you never know—usually, when you see a girl that’s just SO hot, when you get closer, she turns out to be underage. What does this tell you.
Anyway, after a quick sandwich and a beer I went to rent my shoes and there about fifteen feet away is the girl. And she is in fact fourteen. A well developed fourteen, but fucking fourteen. And now she is STARING at me. She is giving me the rapestare. What the fuck is going on? I am attractive to sarcastic weathered 29 year olds but never in my life have nubile young girls in their prime been remotely interested in me. Takes a while for a girl to settle for a face with character. So, did she see me leering at her? Did she catch the one second of omigod-I’m-gonna-cum-in-my-pants-over-a-junior-high-school-girl before I was able to master my degenerate loins and quickly look at the ground? Is she staring at me out of revenge? Or is there a chance, however infinitesmal, that she actually thinks I’m attractive, in my worn button down shirt from work and broken expression… does this girl think I am hot? Does this mean other teenage girls might think I am hot? Should I move to fucking New Mexico and just live my dream of rawdogging emotionally abused pubescent poon until I die a happy man?
Then I turned and standing right behind me was one of the Jonas Brothers. The good looking one. I couldn’t figure out who he was at first, I just thought: god damn, that kid is good looking. In person he’s swarthy and hairy but his small frame and delicate features balance this out—he has a face so angelic yet masculine that you can’t look away from it. Now I am giving Joe Jonas the rapestare. And suddenly he is moving and starting to talk and I think he is about to say something about the fact that an aging perv who looks like 1977 Harry Dean Stanton is eyefucking him. But no– it’s the girl, she has come up behind me and got his attention and she is sheepishly asking for a photograph. And he, with perfect calm and graciousness, poses for one with her, taken by her friend. And he looks cool in the photo but doesn’t go out of his way to present a certain side of his face or make a certain stock expression, and he reacts like it’s no big deal that his fans would come up and pester him in public, and in fact comes off like a nice sweet farmboy who acknowledges the incredible luck he has had and thanks the girls for taking a picture with him and does not once look at the hot one’s barely-veiled puffy nipples with covetousness. God damn, Joe Jonas. You are a class fucking act. I have seen what the exact opposite of me is now.