The worlds longest pick up line

Top seven reasons why you (fill in name) are eye candy..and just a teensy weinsy bit more

7 - Because you bring me Almond Joy

6 - Because you make my knees as weak as Turkish Taffy

5 - Because you turn my brain into cotton candy

4 - Because I want to shower you with Hershey’s kisses

3 - Because your clever assertive coy flirty funny way about you gives me the Snickers

2 - Because your charm is, like, totally, Good and Plenty..and (drum roll please)

1 - Because when I lower my gaze upon you just a little, I think of (ahem) extremely delectable, beautiful and fetching Peter Paul Mounds……and Bazooka Bubble Gum…and the Two Musketeers

But mere “eye candy” is kind of, like, calling a supernova a nice little sparkler. I mean I am talking orgasmic, metaphysical, universe-shattering, ocular nirvana here…

You are like a religious experience. Like, Genesis, Resurrection and The Second Coming (pun intended) all rolled into one. Somehow you channel Jayne Mansfield, Marilyn Monroe and Mamie Van Doren all into one beautiful body. Wearing one extremely small and overstressed bikini.

You prove that God is a woman. And living on the barstool next to me

You turn every drab pixel on my brain LCD into positively picture perfect 32 billion color pulchritude.

Among the pantheon of pretty and unobtainable (at least to a troll like me) women you are like the Holy Grail, the Ark of the Covenant, the rainbow pot of gold and the Higgs Boson combined.

And such power – when you put your arms together you can melt diamonds, crush walnuts, fuse ti…oops…er…ah…tritium. With a mere thought you can part the Red Sea, freeze hell over and make pigs fly like bumblebees on crack. You can pay off the national debt from your lunch money. You effortlessly cure low T, ED, steroid banishment and metrosexual wimpitude.

You can graciously, gracefully and gently get down on your knees, part your luscious red lips, look straight up into my eyes and mouth the following words:

“I want to blow you……away…”

You turn men into raging beasts, jabbering idiots, quivering ninnies, bamboozled bozos and eager spokes-slaves for the American Diary Association. You make my eyes water, jaw drop, teeth tingle, stomach flutter, loins stir and my socks roll up and down at 90 miles an hour. Plus (ahem) certain activity in other corpulent structures.

In your wake you leave a trail of blown minds, broken hearts, swollen pride, long-standing members and monuments erected in your honor. And, men who want to consume foxy felines, stroke souls, Harley-Dee imaginary hairlines and Porky-Pig twin mountain peaks. (“Not that there’s anything wrong with that..”)

If you are 41 – oh well then I am the Uncle of Bonzo, Ham, King Kong and Curious George. No flippen way.

Rocket science you cannot do, you say? You don’t have to – you can convert a convention of astrophysicist into a gooey blubbering pool of horny protoplasm.

To put it in shelf-speak – you’ve gotta rack nicer than the gold-plated diamond-coated platinum frame that Donald Trump hangs his toupees on.

So to conclude in rapt, thunderstruck, mind-boggling adoration -- I will stop beating around the bush and making subtle noises that might be misunderstood.

I like you gurl!