Locker Room Speeches Interrupted by Spiders
"Rock," he said, "sometime when the team is up against it, and the breaks are beating the boys, tell 'em to go out there with all they got and win just one for the Gipper. I don't know where I'll be then, Rock, but I'll know about it; and I'll be happy."
***
Locker room speeches are an American institution. We like to believe anything's possible with enough passion and fury and purpose.
The halftime score doesn't matter. A good speech can turn everything around.
And this is true. It can't be denied. (Countless movies prove it.)
Here's what the public doesn't know though--more times than not, in the other locker room an equally compelling speech was in progress. But then a spider crawled on Coach, and everything was lost.
'Cause let's face it:
"Rock," he said, "sometime when the team is up against it, and the breaks are beating the boys, tell 'em to go out there with all they got and... Eeek!!! Get it off me boys! God help me get it off!!!"
Just doesn't seem to inspire victory for some reason.
***
I have loved you, Starbucks Barista, with the reckless purity of a puppy exploring a yard. And yes, I do sometimes steal panties from your employee locker and sniff them at night in the parking lot. But never in fury or depravity--only for love and all its senses. And know this now, lovely Starbucks Barista, if nothing else in this crazy world can ever be proved to be true, this much shall be, for as sure I stand before you now... Eeek!!! Get it off me boys! God help me get it off!!!
(Crap. A spider crawled on me. And right in the middle of a perfect speech--the one that would have won her heart.
Goddamn spiders. Always interrupting speeches.)
posted by Latigo Flint @ 7:18 PM
8 comments
8 Comments:
For the longest time I've read your amazing blog, bearing mute witness to the undying existential angst of one who was born 150 years too late (or too early). No more. I shall declare this here and now, irregardless of the consequences:
Ye of the sacred line of Arthur Eld, ye gunslinger of a world that has moved on, have you ever considered that your beloved barrista might, in fact, be a SPIDER in disguise?! No human with a soul, not even I, a male of the most heterosexual of predilections, could have possibly withstood advances so heart-conquering such as yours. The only rational possibility there left must bring one to conclude, howsoever much one would prefer to deny logic's relentless truth, that only a cold, heartless, book-lunged spider could be capable of such blunt rejection.
Your devoted reader,
ATD
I think I'll just bear mute witness to the undying existential angst of this one..... whoops, me and my big mouth.
"I have loved you, Starbucks Barista, with the reckless purity of a puppy exploring a yard."
I do hope you're a house-broken recklessly pure puppy. That might be where you're going wrong with the barista. If she suspects you're not she'll worry about things like finding a bone under her azaleas or, if worst really comes to worst, having to lock you in a linoleumed area each night to prevent "accidents" in other more carpeted areas of the house.
You should inform the barrista immediately that you can toilet yourself very easily and love to fetch newspapers, slippers and that sort of thing. It might also help to tell her you're very licky. That right there might swing it for you.
Teehee.
Sam said:
"Finding a bone"
Giggle.
Hm. It may not be the spider, but instead the infantile innuendo, that has thwarted me in similar exploits...
Arachnids hate speeches of any kind. Also, in an unrelated side lurch, I hope Sir Eduardo and Steve Irwin are playing happily somewhere, throwing heavy rocks at devilfish.
And I meant it too.
Nicolas
ATD... you are allowed to say fine things to me anytime you wish. I am humbled by your perfect comment.
(Guns forged from Excalibur... God save The Stephen King.)
I fear you're right about the Spider and my Love... but hope bids me ignore your warning.
I don't entirely understand what you're saying right now Helga Von Porno--but I'm going to pretend I do and hope no one calls me on it...
So, um... Yes, well noted... ho ho, existential angst indeed.
I shit all over everything Sam, absolutely everything. I wouldn't be much of a puppy if I didn't, now would I?
I understand the destination, if not the path Nicolas Papaconstantinou.
Oh Ari... so do I. It is without a trace of snide irony when I tell you I wept for a kindred spirit this weekend.
Hey Sam, no flirting with men that aren't me. That's not allowed here.
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