There she was, hair shimmering in the moonlight like it had so many times before in front of her computer monitor. The glow of lunar bliss illuminated Penelope as she admired Adam Levine gyrating in the distance. At last, she was here in Camden, former homicide capital of the country (you big jerk, Detroit), watching her favorite band, Maroon 5. From her perch in the back of the Susquehanna Bank Center, she wondered, is Susquehanna Bank still in business? Where are all the Susquehanna banks? What is a Susquehanna anyway? Sounds Native American to me. Oh right. Was that the chick that escorted Lewis and Clark westward?
On the lawn she stood, in Camden, at the Susquehanna Bank Center, as was aforementioned. But other than the thoughts about Susquehanna and her travels that pranced through her brain, there was only one other thought in her head: I must have him. She was of course referring to the greatest man in mankind, Adam Noah Levine. He was singing the Jagger song that she liked so much. There was nothing sexier in a man than when he analyzed the hip movements of a geriatric Brit. She wished he would move like that all night long, and not just on stage, but in her pants and in her heart.
Penelope leaned over to her friend's ear and whispered, "Hey friend, have I ever told you how much I want him?" (This is important to remember, people. She really wants him. Remember this for later.)
Her friend Chet replied, "Yes, you have told me many times."
Chet was a man much like many other men. Average height. Average weight. Average hair color. Average IQ. Well, yeah, I would say average mostly. I mean, below average is still average-ish, right? How was he to catch Penelope's heart when she desired the epitome of pop music sexiness and he was so far from it? In an attempt to win over Penelope, Chet tested his musical aptitude, hoping that he could impress her, but there was nothing there. He did not even possess the dregs of a Miller Lite Bottle, if a Miller Lite Bottle represented musical aptitude. In sum, Chet was no musician. But perhaps there were other ways to Penelope's heart. Was there something else about Adam Levine that she desired so much? Perhaps he should find out.
"So Penelope, what do you like about Adam Levine so much?"
"He's hot!" she screamed.
Chet knew he was going to have to extract more information than that from her. He tried again. "Ummm, Penelope? What else do you like about him?"
It was at this moment that Penelope turned her head to face Chet. Peering deep into his soul, she looked and looked before speaking. Chet saw those bright blue eyes he loved so much. They were as blue as the water in an Evian bottle. He had always loved her eyes, as well as the crisp water that he would occasionally sip from an Evian bottle. She finally spoke. "Shut up, Chet. I'm trying to watch the show."
Chet would have to wait. Perhaps he would bring up the topic again on the drive home from Camden. Horrible, horrible Camden. This was something to look forward to.
