Monday, May 18, 2009

To the Gentleman who Offered me a Ride in His 'Copter

Dear Gentleman who Offered me a Ride in His 'Copter,

I met you at that Japanese/Chinese restaurant (odd). On the lounge side. I don't frequent the restaurant side because there's a god damned dark crystal in it's lobby, and though it's been a good twenty years since I last saw that satanic movie, I remain--today--terrified of any large crystals of a dark purplish color, most horseshoe crabs and all raptors.

It was winter. February? If I remember correctly, you are blonde with glasses. Cute, too, like puppies, high-ponies, and pink and green bikinis. You offered me a ride in your helicopter. I would have taken you up on it, had I not recently escaped a particularly draining long-term relationship. I was feeling a bit bitter about the whole thing, and not yet ready to date. I felt tired and burned. I felt like curb-stomping the next man who came within ten feet of me...that sort of thing. The usual.

But I'm totally ready now, rested and recouped, and I can virtually guarantee, should you take me for a ride in your helicopter, that I will not curb-stomp you. There are no curbs in the sky.

I must ask you to hurry up and find me, though, because I'm kind of horny, and smoking hot homeless guy from the coffee shop may not have a job or a place to live, but he's smoking, and best of all, he knows an alien/human hybrid person. I think we can agree that meeting an alien/human hybrid person is way more exciting than going for a ride in a helicopter, unless of course, the helicopter has a flux capacitor, and then it totally trumps. For sure.

I can't date you both concurrently. That doesn't seem right. I mean, what if Sedona put on--hypothetically speaking--an Enchantment Under The Sea dance type thing, and we went together, and had a nice makeout in the parking lot--I don't know where I'm getting this from--and smoking hot homeless guy caught us, flipped out and said something like: "Get your damn hands off her," before knocking you out? That's violence, which is totally uncool. You know I'm joking about the curb-stomping, baby.

Here's what I propose: Meet me at Twin Pines Mall at 1:15am. Bring one point twenty-one jigawatts worth of plutonium, and I'll bring a half-drunk case of sugar free Monster Energy drink. We'll get your 'copter going 88 miles per hour and see if the sparks don't fly.

I won't curb-stomp you,

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