Public Stoning, A Love Story
"That pretty girl likes me, she just doesn't know it yet." is a perfectly acceptable mindset for fictional cinema characters. However, Latigo Flint is beginning to realize that in real life the consequences of acting on such an opinion are often unpleasant, and occasionally disastrous.
Have you ever been publicly stoned? Latigo Flint has. It's not much fun. It leaves something to be desired -- Principally: "I very much desire that this not be happening to me right now."
"Grow up Latigo Flint." This is what I told myself. "Grow up and realize that adorably stubborn efforts to woo cute Starbucks baristas seldom work out in the end and may in fact lead to you being publicly stoned to within an inch of your life."
Questions are the rebar in the tower of knowledge. 'Know thyself' someone smart once said. Well, I can put six and six together, so naturally I questioned myself.
"How can you be certain, self, that adorably stubborn efforts to woo cute Starbucks baristas seldom work out in the end and may in fact lead to my own public stoning?"
"Well, are you at this very moment being publicly stoned to within an inch of your life?"
"Um... OW! Yeah, I guess."
"And was it a direct result of your adorably stubborn efforts to woo the cute Starbucks barista?"
"Let me think... Yeah."
"Well, there you go."
I had a point there. But wait! I just thought of something.
"Hey self!"
"Yes?"
"I just thought of something -- How do you know that she won't fall madly in love when she sees the agony we're willing to endure for her, coupled with all these sexy rivulets of blood running down our tawny and rippley muscles?"
"... My god! You may just have something there - that is, I may just have something there."
"Either way. Let's say we may just have something here."
"Fair enough. Hey, do you think she's in love with us yet."
"Tough to tell. Here comes half a cinder block at our collarbone, I'm going to wince stoically and snarl at the sky like a sexy, wounded beast - you watch her reaction for any signs of repressed passion."
"Good plan... Hey, I dig you, Me."
"I dig you too. Now come on, we gots work to do."
"Right!"
posted by Latigo Flint @ 1:12 AM
13 comments
13 Comments:
I have those kinds of conversations with myself all the time. But I always end up in love with myself afterwards, the attractive young man whom I was attempting to woo at the bookstore long forgotten...
When I was 5, the little boy next door threw a rock at my head. I had to get four stitches and, to this day, I still have the scar on my forehead. It didn't make him fall in love with me, but his mom did make him bring me a "Cinderella" pop-up book in apology.
Hang in there kid. I know that seeing a lad bludgeoned to within an inch of his life always gives me the nasty horn. There is hope.
Once, as I sailed headfirst over the handlebars of a mountain bike, en route to a large rock, I thought, "Man, I bet this looks really cool from the outside."
Any girl that would let you take a half-cinder block to the collar bone to show her your love would probably think you're pretty stupid and not give you a second glance, except maybe to see your blood run.
Greta, the "nasty horn" made me spit coffee...
And LF, it truly helps when being stoned, to be stoned.
One must have the stones for it, though.
Looking for my own Stoney End, (ew, Barbra Streisand reference)
Dave
Questions are the rebar in the tower of knowledge.
That brought a tear to my eye, Latigo. What a beautiful, poignant insight, made even more so remarkable by the circumstances of its conception. I dare anyone else to come up with such pithy wisdom while stoically enduring half cinder blocks in the chest.
(What do you mean, darers go first? I don't know what you're talking about.)
The real way to win her heart would be to find some one else who is being stoned under similar circumstances. You stand in front of the angry mob, eyes blazing with a holy passion. With a voice that shakes the heavens, shout "let he who is without creepy stalker tendancies cast the first stone". THEN if people throw stones you let them hit you.
For some reason I always picture you snarling at the sky like a sexy, wounded beast.
But you see Paula, I don't think there's anything wrong with that, and that book clerk is probably kinda dim anyway.
Okay Amandarama - that one paragraph was better than anything I've ever written... I stare in wide wonder and also feel real grumpy.
Howdy Greta. I knew there was a reason to like Australian girls other than their sexy accents.
And you were absolutely right Lance. It probably looked unbelievably cool and sexy. (Unless you whimpered like a baby seal when you landed... I'm going to assume that you did not.)
Well I think you're out of touch old man!!! She's in love with me, she just doesn't know it yet!!! (Oops.)
Hey Dave. Okay, you take Rainy Day Woman number 35 and I'll take number 12.
I was pretty proud of it too Slarrow. Made doubly so by your approval. I must tell you though, a real clarity tends to manifest when half a cinder block is bouncing off your clavicle.
This is an incredible plan Trevor. I'm angry that I didn't think of it first. There is a slim chance I shall enact it with glorious results and then kill you so none will know it isn't wholly mine.
And Cindy-Lou, that is how I always want you to picture me.
I'm telling you, Latigo Flint. Stop aiming so high. Let the Starbucks girls go. Then head to a Denny's and hit on the waitresses.
If you can't woo a Denny's waitress, then you just can't woo.
But who are we kidding? They'll copulate with a mule if he's a good tipper.
Two selves? Must...resist...another...Bourne Identity...reference...
Questions sure are the rebar in the tower of knowledge. And there's that word again.
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