August, earnest

Some Pick-Up Lines I Wrote For You (A

Little Drunk) On A Flight From
D.C. To Washington
August 7, 2009.1



❤  I would really like to kiss you.

❤  (Even though my arms are incredibly weak) I bet I could carry you.

❤  How’d you like, five years from now, to have kids of slightly above average height and insufficiently satisfying girth?

❤  I wink at you and then creepily (redundant) try to touch your face. Probably stare a little.

❤  Someday we’ll be dead (and I’m pretty sure I don’t have strep throat)!

❤  If we were rich we could just get on a plane just to get drunk together.

❤  If we get drunk (and a familiar song is playing) there is a 1000% chance I will sing to you.

❤  That’s more a promise than a pick-up line / “Worryin’ about the – common decency = when it is only a – question of frequency”2

❤  Hey– just call me John And/Or Paul, ‘cuz I wanna Hold Your Hand!

❤  Hey– just call me Ringo, ‘cuz I wanna sink my Yellow Submarine in your Octopus’s Garden ew.34

❤  Hey– just call me George, ‘cuz I wanna be Within You and Without You. No wait: that would just leave me Gently Weeping. … Something.


❤  You wear those [object] and I’ll touch your [somepart] as much as you want– guaranteed.


❤  Don’t think, know!: My rhythmic– if spastic– dance moves portend well what awaits you in the bedroom (at least insofar as effort will be involved, also sweating)!

❤  _____ / _____: two families, a dozen aunts and uncles, forty-ish cousins: no retards, no crazies.

❤  Can I get your autograph?


❤  Can I trace you? Like a chaste Leonardo DiCaprio?

❤  Can I cover you with numbers so I know where to paint (once it gets a little less chaste)?

❤  You can have the inside of the bed if you want.

❤  Or the outside– I’m amenable.

❤  Can I protect you from ghosts?

❤  Let’s interlace our fingers like a bodice, or a pair of impractical shoes; let’s stitch them together and wait for the sutures to dissolve.

❤  Ew? / I bet my clothes would probably fit you.


❤  You make me want to floss regularly.

❤  You make me want to shave my neck.

❤  You make me want to obey traffic laws.

❤  You make me want to chrome wheel fuel inject.5

❤  You make me want to write a musical – version of As Good As It Gets =

❤  So I can tell you that “You make me want to be a better man” – without really plagiarizing it.

❤  I genuinely find your half-abashed [trait]– not charming, because that would be condescending– but telling of an authenticity that is exceedingly rare in a culture of tedious, cowardly, and garishly strident uniformity, in which shame and guilt and self-denial are considered personality flaws, signs of abuse.6

❤  You make me want to be able to actually hit on people like a human being might.






1And one I already had, two since re-written.

2“For-e-ver – doesn’t mean for-ev-er anymore…”

3Why is it yellow?

4“It’s leaning more towards pink– so I think it’s ham” – non-sequitur overheard on the plane (that seems to fit here).

5You make me want to contradict my previous statement(s).

6Even though it, you know, was just handed down to you by your parents.


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2 Responses to “August, earnest”

  1. susan Says:

    ❤ You wanna help me celebrate black history month?
    ❤ I could totally set your vagina on fire.
    ❤ You have a nice set of lungs.

    .. you know in case you wanted some more.

    • seagreentelecaster Says:

      Thank you for your addition, Susan, but I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that Clitoral Conflagration is no laughing matter, and that over |20,000|* lives are lost each year to fires started in or around the vulva. If you or your partner notice quickening heartbeat; increased production of fluids; dry mouth; cold mouth; trick knee; actual enjoyment of life for the first time; or empassioned-but-inane shouting, screaming, or ululation, please discontinue stimulation to the affected area immediately. Also, I don’t understand the black history month line.

      (Am I supposed to be black or is the hit-on-upon black? Are we liberal arts kids with no real problems of our own who have, thus, decided to latch onto the more politically tulmultuous identities of others?).

      Is it even February when the line is being used?

      All due gratitude for noticing the work I’ve put into ensexifying my lungs,

      *That’s the absolute value of 20,000; zero is more than negative 20,000; I am not, technically, incorrect.

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