Some Pick-Up Lines I Wrote For You (A
Little Drunk) On A Flight From
D.C. To Washington
❤ 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.