How to Pick up Guys

I've written some mock personal ads lately and thought it would be good time to post a piece sent to me by a fellow improviser. This is written by a gal named Devin Devine, which sounds like a stipper name so it's perfect for the piece. Here is her explanation for the inspiration:

This was one of the most personal writing experiences I've had. In high school, this was what I did in attempts to finding my "special someone," and ended up being emptier than before.


How to Pick Up Guys
by Devin Devine  

Step #6
“My mom is almost home.” These will be the five words that will get any boy, man, or nameless face out of your bed – without question. As soon as they were dropped to his ankles, the jeans will be buckled, his feet crammed into his tennis shoes, and he’ll be out the sliding glass door – just as the garage door opens.

But the garage door will not open.

You will stare at your room, at the sheets, at your body, and suddenly the machine kicks in. You make the bed, you unmake the bed, you take a shower, you scrub, you shave, you wish you wouldn’t have shaved, you dry off, you still feel dirty, you brush your hair, and then you will sit in the front of the computer at the desk. Click, click, nothing. You will then read online articles about how to get the perfect butt. You will look at your butt.

It’s not perfect. It’s better than perfect.
He’s perfect.

He won’t appear online today.
He won’t send you a text tomorrow.
He might make eye contact next Monday.

But when he doesn’t, go back to the list. Go back to the beginning. Repeat steps one through six.

Step #4
This is the most pivotal moment in the entire process. You cannot lose him now. Everybody can see what’s happening, but it’s all down to this.
You must be 100% committed. He won’t be yet. But you must be. Be yourself. Be her. Be forward. Always pose with 100% enthusiasm. His will look like all the others. If he doesn’t return the favor, repeat step three or skip to step six. Act quickly. He might realize. Before it’s too late. But you must be better than the rest.

Little did you know, the rest are –

“You’re amazing. Oh my god. I’ve never felt something like that before!”

Never send the same photo twice.

Step #1
“Just look at those eyes!” You nod. You smile. You can tell he has a decently sized penis. You hope it isn’t too big, or too small, or too round, or too short.

Your whisper is too loud, “He’s got nice eyes, but look at that ass.”

His friend heard you.
His friend knows Kyle. Kyle knows Danny. And Danny and Paul played varsity football since freshmen year.

Paul wasn’t circumcised.
But you didn’t know that before Brit told you on the bus ride to the State Tournament. Brit and Paul dated for eight months. She didn’t see it until five.

It’s been five months since –

You’ve come a long way.

Step #3
“You look…tired,” your friends, your teachers, your parents will say. You look at the ground, and nod. “Late night.” With your door snugly shut, your fingers shaking as you dial. You’re breathing heavy and have to catch yourself as the dialing stops and his voice is there on the other hand - You whisper. He whispers. Your little secret. “Our little secret.”

Step #5
Time. Date. Place. Immediacy is key.
Get a ride home. After school, after practice. He’ll have a car.

They all have cars.

Step #2

Flirtation is key. You must be direct, but you can’t be explicit. But you should swear. Say fuck. Say shit. Don’t smoke? You do now. Don’t drink? Every weekend.
You’ve never tried - You’ve done it all and can do it well.
The guru. The best.
That’s what you’ll tell him. You won’t believe it, as you say it, but you’ll tell him, “I’m not like every other girl. I’m different. I’ve got a trick or two. And I’ll rock your world.”
Meanwhile, the rock in your stomach is shrinking, acid eating the morality away. Smile. Cock your head. Sway.

Worst Man's Ad

 I wanted to follow up to Worst Woman's Ad with an equally bad one for men.

The below is an example of a men's personal ad which should cause woman to run away. Not walk, run. Yet somehow...it feels like I could place this ad on Craigslist and it would fit right in. 



M4W -42 got game?

What’s up ladies? Jerry Bunderham here, looking to give you the time of your life. I’m a 42 year old, 5’ 6” wall of man looking to make the right woman feel like a queen.

Let me walk you through our first date:

First,  I pick you up at your place. You’ll know it’ll be my ‘92 Ford Fiesta pulling up when you see the bumper sticker that says “Coexist.”

Next,  we’ll go to Frankie Doodle’s diner  where I got a sweet hook up ‘cause I’m a part time fry-cook there. Ladies love a man that can cook. haha lol :-)

Usually I order the 32 oz steak. If I finish it, I’ll totally let you wear the T-shirt they’ll give me on the ride back to my place. No first date is complete without dessert and I always keep my freezer stocked with Ding Dongs. 

As we walk down the steps to my basement apartment, I’ll put my fingers to your lips, tenderly quieting our vibrant conversation. My nana lives upstairs and she's a light sleeper. 

For the next couple hours, prepare to be amazed. I don’t like to brag, but I’m one of the top ranked Call of Duty players in the nation. After you’ve seen me work my magic pwning noobs, we’ll unfold my futon and see if we can work any more magic. ;-)

In the morning you'll get to see my sensitive side while I read Hagar the Horrible to my nana as she whips us up some smiley face pancakes.

After breakfast I'll walk you a block to the bus stop where we'll part ways. You smile, close your eyes, and kiss me goodbye. You've just been Bunderhammered. You're welcome.

I’m looking for women 25-55. 420 friendly.

Pleasure Dimension

From time to time I like to write song lyrics. I really like songs with a punchline at the end. I wrote this during the weeks while I was rehearsing for an improv show where I was at least 10 years older than any other improvisor. Somehow, daydreaming that I'm a rock star made me feel young enough to perform with them.


It was on a one way.....Greyhound bus
Sittin on the back you were so curious
I didn’t want your time I didn’t want to talk
I know you needed mine, I know you couldn’t stop
So happy....to play along
So sorry the idea you got was wrong
Now....Now
Now x 6

This was never forever, not even one night
I’m looking for now and wanna do it right
We only met, but I should probably mention
I’m just your ticket to the pleasure dimension


INSTUMENTAL

Remember how we said it’d be a one time thing?
Remember how we said never, never again?
Now you’re ringin’ me up on the telephone
Callin’ me baby when your husband is home
Sayin’ nothing’ ever gonna be the same
But girl.....I gave you a fake name
Now.....Now
Now (x 6)


This was never forever, not even one night
I’m looking for now and I wanna do it right
We just met, but I should probably mention
I’m your ticket to the pleasure dimension
I am your ticket to the pleasure dimension
I am your ticket to the pleasure dimension
I am your ticket to the pleasure dimension
I am your ticket to the pleasure dimension. Come on!

Wet Stone

 

I wrote this for a contest for www.fiction500.com. The prompt was a school bus. And, as most people, it made me think of a hostage situation.

Javier didn’t need to sharpen his knife, but he like the way it sounded--it helped him think. He did it the way his grandfather taught him: with a belt and a wet stone. After mass one Sunday when he was eight years old, Javier’s grandfather took him out behind their small two room house in Jelxaca and showed Javier how to sharpen a blade. The old man’s face wrinkled like sunburnt suede when he smiled and pointed to a chicken for Javier to run after.  It was common on a Sunday, if enough people would come over after mass, to slaughter a chicken for dinner. As Javier struggled with the bird he punched the hen in the sternum to quell her seizing panic. His grandfather handed him the newly sharpened knife and made a chopping motion with his hand. It was the first time Javier felt blood spray on his skin. Even though it was only chicken blood, it still felt like respect.
Behind him, behind the sound of the blade scraping against the wet stone, Javier could hear Hector and Armon ushering the teens out of the bus. Two adults lay dead on the road like freshly slaughtered livestock. In his ever-increasing need for dramatics, Hector told the two of them in broken English that if they cut off their thumbs in less than five seconds he wouldn’t kill them. “Go!” He yelled after handing them knives, cackling with laughter. Bob, the youth group leader had his thumb off in three seconds, Chance--the junior pastor--hesitated and Hector shot both of them in the neck as the young volunteers peered over a banner written in dark pink, rose-scented marker reading, “Willowbrook Lutheran Church loves Mexico!”
Javier thought about what their next move should be. How much ransom would a bus load of Lutheran teens go for? The tearful whimpering behind him blended into the background like a hens clucking in a chicken coop and all he only heard the rhythmic grinding of steel on stone.