Best comment of the day from Mr. Pelican Pants: How will I “stimulate” the economy.
Here’s my plan:
After contemplating the positives and negatives, I think I’d finally give in and give the economy a call. We’d exchange pleasantries over the phone, and maybe flirt a little bit, but soon enough, I’d get around to asking the economy out. She’d probably giggle nervously but would quickly accept my offer.
As the big night approached, I ponder all the “what if’s.” What if the economy doesn’t like me? What if the economy doesn’t laugh at my jokes? Or maybe, I’ll learn that the economy has all this baggage and I don’t want to get involved? I hope the economy doesn’t cry. But what if we really hit it off? What could come from that? Maybe the economy will think I’m smart, cute and funny. Maybe we’ll fall in love.
Then, the big night is here. I take my $600 and the economy and I paint the town familiar. Dinner, dancing, a few cocktails to loosen the mood. Then maybe a nice quiet walk around town - just me and the economy and the stars up above. But it’s getting late and we should be getting back home.
In the parking lot of the economy’s condo, we chat a bit, exchange glances, maybe even experience that “uncomfortable moment” before saying goodnight. Do I kiss the economy; will the economy kiss me back? Oh Lord, give me strength! And then, just when I think we’re about to part ways without even a friendly hug...we kiss. And WOW! What a kiss!
This, of course, leads to an invitation inside, just for a quick drink or cup of coffee. But soon, me and the economy are nice and snuggled up on the couch, lights down low, and Maxwell’s Urban Suite playing on the stereo. A kiss leads to a grope. A grope leads to full on body to body contact, which leads to a glimmer and gleam in each of our eyes to move things to a more suitable room of the house. Shirts and shoes are quickly discarded and strewn all about. Perhaps we knock over a vase or frighten the cat in our haste to retire to the bedroom. But in the dark, we make our way, and unleash our pent up and hostile sexual energy upon each other.
The economy and I have the kind of love-making that can not even be considered love-making. It’s punishing. It’s steamy. It’s a pull my hair, spank my a**, bit your lip, claw my chest, unbridled sexual encounter. We go for hours. The pets are restless. The neighbors pound on the walls. The angels weep. The Earth moves. Until finally, the economy and I fall like leaves into a velvet splash.
The deed is done. Sunrise greets our tired and restless faces. The covers are strewn about, and the economy’s arm rests on my shoulders. I can feel her warm breath on the back of my neck. We awaken to a new day and a new understanding of who we are and what we have done. We lay for awhile, soaking in the morning sun and relishing in the continued sensation of our first touch. I ask the economy, “Are you stimulated?” And the economy replies, “Oh yea...verrrry stimulated.”
But soon, the economy starts talking about meeting her mother and going to a flower show, and then maybe a late supper. Before I can even lift myself from my dismal haze, the economy has already committed us to no more than two family visits, a “running of errands” date, and then topped off with a viewing of her favorite DVD, ‘Sweet November’.
So I don’t know about all this. Maybe I made a huge mistake. Maybe this isn’t worth all the trouble of trying to stimulate the economy.
On second thought, I think I’ll just use my $600 to buy a Playstation 3.