Love in the 90s

He was aware of her mouth, flapping like a singing sock puppet, but it took one, maybe two seconds for his brain to process the sounds emitted from her knotty flap. It wasn't "If You're Happy and You Know It", that's for sure. Hell, it wasn't even "Thanks for the Valentine's gift."
"It's over between us, Jack, O-V-A! You suck, Jack! You suck so bad, you suck wet farts from dying pigeons!"
He got the feeling this evening wasn't going well.
His name was Jack.

Jack stepped out, alone, into an uncommonly clement February night, due to global warming. Well, actually, he stepped out into a dog poo on a pavement, but it was night-time. "Shit," he said, accurately.

Twenty three minutes later, Jack pushed open the door of Here Be Dragons, went inside, took off his coat, got out his wallet, walked to the bar and asked for a beer. Then he waited for someone to appear behind the bar, as the barman had taken advantage of it being a bit quiet to pop into the kitchen and spit on the food.

While Jack was waiting, he looked around for a familiar face, but instead there was just one unfamiliar face. This unfamiliar face was not disembodied, although the body was also unfamiliar to Jack. But Jack had not noticed the body, anyway - he was struck by her gorgeous eyes.
"Ow!" he shouted, and rubbed his forehead.
"Sorry," she said, apologising like a repentant hummingbird. "I had to use that old joke to get your attention. You see, I just don't want to drink alone. Not tonight. Not on Valentine's night. Not on this balmy Valentine's night. Not on -"
"Shut up!" he screeched.", I mean...would you like a drink? I often get those two phrases mixed up."
"I'd love a pint of brine", she purred. Not literally, though, otherwise Jack wouldn't have understood what she wanted to drink. It was meant in the sense that she spoke softly and seductively, although I've never knowingly heard a cat speak like that, so maybe there's a better verb for it.

It was a night of shits and giggles. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was those stunning eyes, so full of secrets and promises like a pair of Kinder surprises in a skull, maybe it was the author's whim, but when she suggested that they leave the pub and go somewhere special, he readily agreed. Filthy beast.

She drove them off the edge of a cliff. Fortunately, it was a very short cliff, just a few millimetres high, and next to a lake. They stood at the edge of the lake. It was beautiful. The full moon was as a freshly polished knob on the door of the night, and illuminated the surface of the rippled lake so that it resembled purest cellulite.

"Let's go for a swim," she suggested. Jack wasn't sure this was a good idea: it was an awfully long drive to the nearest leisure centre and -
As he thought these thoughts, she started to unbutton her lovely Top Shop blouse, and finally Jack got the message. It was printed on her vest: I WANT TO GO SKINNY-DIPPING WITH YUO IN THIS LAKE NOW. She'd got 10% off at the T-shirt printing place for the spelling mistake.

It didn't take them long to get used to the coldness of the water, and fortunately Jack resisted the urge to go "OH SHITTING CRIKEY THIS WATER IS FUPPING FREEZING!! WHAT'S SO BLOODY MARVELLOUS ABOUT THIS, YOU STUPID FLAPDOODLE?!"

Splish, splosh, went the water as they splashed each other, inna flirtatious stylee. Jack couldn't believe his luck, this gorgeous creature was going to be his tonight. This had never happened to him before, except once. He decided to make his move and splished towards her purposefully. She, sensing his intentions, opened herself to his passionate embrace and they kissed, mouth to beak, limbs entwined with tentacles. Her leftover tentacles curled around his torso, slid along his thigh, slithered through his magnificent hair, which I forgot to mention earlier. He reached up and stroked her voluptuous dripping mantle, which darkened with each caress. They sank into the lake like a pair of tuppences down the back of a sofa. Down, down, is too late to warn them now. She should have checked for gills. He should have bought a snorkel from the vending machine in the pub toilets. Only one thing is certain:
Jack would never go out with a kraken again...