Darkside Rainbow

Since Doug over at Current Events Watch snitched the topic I’d intended to froth at the mouth over today (we apparently rank below animals, so I suppose there’s nothing wrong with acting like a rabid dog, now is there?), I thought perhaps we here at DR might wind down with a little humor.

Ladies and Gents, I’m going to clue you in to the most beautiful thing about men: the second that you begin to agonize and worry over whether you should or should not be flirting/dallying/doing whatever with us, we will choose that opportune moment to say just the right thing to ensure that you’ll never want to again. Gay, straight, young, old, we are a self-resolving problem. It’s convenient, it’s efficient, and as prevalent as it is, it’s a miracle that any of us manage to maintain viable social interaction. Give us enough verbal rope, and we will eventually hang ourselves.

The simultaneously best and worst example of this?

The dreaded pickup line.

To paraphrase Alex Hitchins, it takes a great deal of courage for a man to spot an attractive member of his preferred gender and take on the burden of approaching them, knowing that the first words that come out of his mouth with most likely determine whether or not this person will smile at him or throw their drink in his face. With that in mind, you’d think we’d take better care with the things we say. You’d think we’d try our best to be straightforward and engaging, rather than making sad attempts to be clever and witty even though we know we’ll fumble and fail at every turn.

We hardly ever learn, though. I’ve been victim to a number of cringe-worthy pickup lines myself, from the Harry Potter guy and his magic wand to the admittedly attractive woman (yes, women do it sometimes, too, just not as often - don’t think you’re off the hook, ladies) who approached me in the line at the movie theatre and, without so much as a hello, told me to meet her by the side of the building by the blue Camaro and she’d take me back to her place and we could…well. You get the picture. She walked off before I could say a word, leaving me gaping. I can’t help but wonder if she actually waited there, and if so, for how long.

You can’t even escape it online. I still have my membership on OutinHouston.com, created during the experiment that led to The Steve Incident, and now and then I check my e-mail on the site. Just yesterday I ran across this lovely gem, dated 11.16.07:

“ha baby wanted to know would you like to hook up an mess around alittle an if so when because I would like to taste that juice **** 4 its milk but i dont swallow but like to taste it all so let me know baby mike..”

Censoring asterisks mine, typos his. Not…that censoring really does much to lower the ESRB rating of that little gem, nor would proper grammar and punctuation make it any more appealing.

But Mike, you see, is a persistent one. Since I never answered his first e-mail, yesterday he sent me another, this time with a picture attached:

“ha guy lov the photo of you an wanted to know would you like to hook up an mess around at my place if thats ok with you are i can cum to you as well baby me lives on the southwest 59/hillcroft an love to suck on a sweet **** today if thats ok with you baby mmm ..mike”

Oh, Mike. You and your homonyms! So witty. I truly admire your dogged determination. It takes quite a bit of courage to view a total stranger’s profile online, read their commentary, and gather the balls it takes to honestly think that anyone would be impressed by that approach, let alone by getting it twice. Mike, you and I need to have a little talk about subtlety. Really. And while we’re at it, here, let me lend you my little pocket edition of Webster’s handbook of grammar and style…

Can’t fault the man for knowing what he wants, though.

I have to say that my most memorable experience with a bad pick-up, though, happened in a gay bar where another ex, Arturo, used to bartend. We were dating at the time, naturally, and I dropped by the bar just to see Arturo and say hi to the owner, as he was an old friend as well. It was a busy night, so I found a spot on the bar and stayed out of the way, amusing myself by watching the typical drunken non-complexity of the night life. I wasn’t particularly projecting an air of availability, but I suppose this fellow was just drunk enough to give it a shot. He was actually rather handsome; dark hair, eyes in a particular color that I have a weakness for, and just a trace of a sexy English accent. I might have entertained the idea of flirting with him to pass the time if he hadn’t stumbled over, grinned at me with a touch of inebriated charm, and said,

“Is that a cucumber in yer pocket, luv, or are ye jes’ ‘appy to see me?”

Cue the expected raised eyebrow and flat look. “Neither.”

He just grinned wider, though, and at this point I could tell he was building up to something. “Got a nice big cucumber in me pocket for ya.” He patted his hip, and against my better judgment I glanced down. Sure enough there was a long, large, clearly-outlined bulge in his rather tight pants. At that point my brain broke; I didn’t even know how to process that, but he wasn’t done yet. He snickered and said, “No, really, it’s a cucumber.”

He wasn’t lying. He stuffed a hand into his pocket, rooted around a little, and dragged out a genuine lean and green cucumber, already starting to wilt from being shoved in there for so long. He waved it under my nose, nearly giggling.

I cracked up laughing.

It turned out his name was Rick, he actually wasn’t so bad, and yet I still made him promise to never use that line on anyone again. He gets points for ingeniousness, but dear gods…how drunk do you have to be to think that stuffing a cucumber down your pants is a good idea?

I could probably deluge you with stories both hilarious and horrifying all day, but I think you get the idea. I’m sure you’ve all got plenty of stories of your own. Bad pick-up lines, funny come-ons that ended up as epic failures…we’ve all experienced them. I suppose it’s universal, and honestly with such a legacy I’m surprised that gay men and straight men don’t get along better. We all suffer from the same foot-in-mouth syndrome, after all.

We’re just lucky that there are a few people out there who find that struggling awkwardness cute.

relationships, romance, dating, bad pick-up lines, flirting, horror stories

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