"I realize you don't know me, but I've always loved you from afar." You tell her.
"And who are you?" she asks.
You stop and think for a moment. You can't tell her who you really are, an unemployed
assistant journeyman plumber staying on a couch at your sister's place, a roach infested tenement in a questionable neighborhood in Fort Worth. Suddenly, inpiration strikes:
"I'm a Poet!" you shout out, thinking to impress her.
"So, Mister Poet, I'm sure you must have a special poem just for me, extolling the
virtues of my beauty and telling of your unbounded desire. Please, may I hear it?" Bjork inquires cynically.
You start to sweat, you hadn't really thought this through. You know little of poetry, the only love poems you've heard recently have been those spoken by the robot-head on Lexx, but you know you’ll lose her if you don't say something quick.
You start to speak while still composing the words, trying to express feelings of beauty
and desire:
"Bjork, Bjork, my beautiful Bjork.
With eyes like a dove, and legs like a stork.
Please come for a ride in my pickup truck,
And then we can go back to my place and..."
SLAP! She strikes you across the face before you can finish the last word of your little
love sonnet.
"You pig! You are no poet! How dare you say I have the legs of a stork! And do you
think I would go riding with someone like you in a pickup truck, like some common
cowboy-girl?"
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