Beast needs a beauty
Troglodyte troll wants tantalizing temptress.
(Being so blessed as I am with the biceps of Paul Bunyan, the looks of JFK Jr., the hair of Fabio, the wit of Bill Shakespeare, the body of Adonis, the IQ of Albie Einstein, the design skill of Frank Lloyd Wright and the bankroll of Howard Hughes…
I get email….Lots and lots and lots of email…Way way too much email!
I mean, internet traffic to this rat-hol…er…ah… TajMahal is like a freeway parking lot. I had to upgrade from rotary dial-up to Vulcan Mind Meld. I had to install my own session border controller from Acme Packet. I had to swap out my Commodore 64 for a Cray XT5. I had to start feeding my generator-gerbil nuts instead of twigs.
So, in a perhaps vain -- pun intended -- attempt to ease up, dial in, throttle back, back off and tone down the situation, here goes…
I’m a hapless, inept, indigent, dyslexic, disreputable, weird, antediluvian, pathetic semi-paralyzed and marginal loser. I suck pond scum, filter feed, and dwell under the bottom rung of the food chain, barely hanging on by my fingernails. Which are the color of 45,000 mile crankcase oil, the consistency of ritz crackers (well, they smell more like Cheezits) and the length of Howard Hughes’ last hairdo. I share ABC sugarless gum with my diabetic pet gila monster. I sadly sold my brother’s soul for Farthings on the Pound and am now possessed by a discount Cockney-spouting moronic platonic demon.
I possess positive attributes in spades: navigating skills of Fred Noonan, finesse of Michael Tyson, morals of Bernie Madoff, probity of Pappy Boyington, patience of Daffy Duck, loyalty of Runaround Sue and writing skills of an alzhemic amoeba.
Dr. Phil, Judge Judy, Suzie Ormond and Homer Simpson are my lifestyle coaches. My ex-wives are Olive Oil, Boney Maroney and Little Orphan Annie. I have successfully dated the three Rrhea sisters -- Dia, Gono and Pyo. I have a cowardly tuna fish cousin whom I denigrate by calling him Chicken of the Sea.
I live in a moldy, mildew-scented mausoleum at the confluence of the River Styxx, the Highway to Hell and Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg. In a Massachusetts town named in honor of internet aficionadoes (Web-ster)..I am a toilet fanatic that is obsessed with writing Dear John letters.
I wear short shorts, tan shoes, pink shoe laces and big panana with a purple hat band. I have flora problems. My eggplant ate Chicago. The fruit of my poor lemon tree is impossible to eat. My greenfields are gone now. And my blueberry chewing gum looses its flavor on the bedpost over night. I’m only middling at plagiarism, onanism and communism.
I’m afflicted with potty mouth, pink eye, swimmers ear, head lice and a deviated septum. I have club feet, a trick knee, tennis elbow, turkey-neck and a gut the size of the Hindenburg. I think small, play ball, refuse calls and pop oak galls. I was a smart alec, a doubting thomas, a wisenheimer. Until I got alzheimers. I am a hocus-pocus harem-scarem willy nilly stupid cupid. Who can also dilly-dally.
I crave a bold, brainy, beautiful billionaire big-bore brazen bi*chy babydoll who absolutely adores, breathes, lives -- and loves -- to bewitch, bewilder, bother, bamboozle, bind, boink and blow men … away. (Barristers named Bathsheeba go to the head of the queue.).
Who nullifies male climacterics, cold-water shrinkage, low T and tree hugging wimpitude with a wave of her wickedly wanton wand and snap of her nail polished fingers . Who can double talk Casey Stengel into a coma and halt tsunamis and tornadoes with a mere look. Ability to slum, proselytize Panamanian pagans , indoctrinate the innocent and sully the chaste would all also be helpful. General deficit of necrotizing tissue might be really quite nice.
To belatedly belabor the point, I need strong medicine to satiate and saturate primal basic disgusting urges.
Failing all that and delving into the dark domain of role reversal --this 121 year-old sycophantic obsequious supplicant (don’t you love those online thesauri?) humbly offers to spelunk, hang-glide and further transmogrify ordinary dowdy housefrau’s…
… into ravishing, haughty, naughty, orga…nic, ero….neous [sic] supermodels. I know proper procedure for gracious graphenburging (sic), nibbling things in the bud, pleasing baby bottle analogues, carefully caressing miniature boat women piloting orchid petal analogues, and interlocuting with the second outmost planet in the solar system. Sorry, Pluto.
I provide pizza to go, tantric massage therapy and MIS support 24-7. I can also be a fly on the wall, tiger in the tank, fish in a barrel and cow over the moon. I possess 99 bottles of beer on the wall, 666 deviled egg recipes, 57 varieties of relish, and seven ways to Sunday. I’m expert at over-writing, run-on sentences, abstruse circular logic and inappropriate behavior.
Then again -- how about we just meet for coffee? And see what happens…
Or not.
(Special thanks to my ex-wife’s attorney for all the descriptions…)
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