I was participating in a poetry slam at the local coffee shop. After I howled out my magnum opus, Maggot Crotch: A Political Memoir, I observed that a curvaceous cutie with shocking blue tresses and a silver nose stud had fastened her gaze upon the implausible character that is myself. She was a smidgen callow, but as the sage philosopher said, if there is turf on the playing surface, initiate the competition. So I stopped at her table on the way back to my seat and said, "Hey chickie, you are the most bodacious kitten in this pretentious bean joint, and I perceive that you and I could blow some groovy jams together. You dig?"
Her mandible swung open, and she scoped me as if I possessed triple oculars, so I said, "Apologies, poppet, I was just putting a toe in the Jacuzzi, if you grasp my gist, not to say, intercept my pass. We chilly?" And I, chastened from the young Aphrodite's scorn, shambled back to my chair.
To hide my embarrassment, I flipped open my laptop and cruised to my favorite Flash site. After I had morosely buried myself in its intricacies for a few nanocenturies, I noticed that the fetching feline I had thought viewed me as repellent as a lummox with leprosy in fact stood behind me and was looking raptly over my shoulder. As I turned toward her, she said, "Do you want to come back to my place and, you know, check out my Robert Crumb prints?"
Of course, I said, "Lead on, o beautiful beat-babe of my soul."
I stayed for breakfast.
Flash--it gets your mojo working.
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