Friday, May 20, 2011

It's The End of The World As We Know It, And I Feel Fine

The countdown has commenced.

T-minus twenty-four until the Apocalypse. This means one thing. Stocking up on bread and TP. Also, lots of scary dudes attempting to meet the women of their dreams in a variety of peculiar fashions. Here, a page from the End of Times Playbook. Focus: The Business District. (I can’t make this stuff up.)

Colonel Apparel
Step over, Dov Charney. Colonel Sanders, the new CEO of cool, is open for business. You will require a denim suit, colorful necktie, thick-rimmed glasses and a tub of Kentucky Fried chicken. Original recipe works best. (Who, in her right mind, can possibly resist 11 secret herbs and spices?) Position yourself next to any American Apparel store. Stand next to the five foot tall cutout of a woman wearing a neon tank top, polyester shorts and tube socks. (Everyone needs a wingwoman.)

Now the fun begins. Rip the meat from the bones with vigor, as would an visiting archduke at a medieval dinner party. Toss the bones behind you. Do not worry if they hit the window glass and bounce back. This will make you look even more badass. (Like you needed help.) Lick the grease off your fingers lasciviously while making eye contact with select passerby. If you locate somebody you fancy, by all means offer her some of your crispy breading.

Stare Bucks
Think of this as your urban Serengeti. Find an inconspicuous outpost from where to linger. (If you still find yourself clad as Colonel San, all the better.) Several strong espressos will enable you to maintain focus while scoping the scene. When you spot an eligible candidate, you may walk up to her table. It is highly likely she will crank up the volume on her headphones or bury herself in her Facebook page when she sees you approach. This is animal attraction at its finest. Read her status updates over her shoulder to disarm her. Comment, as loudly as possible, on the postings of 1.) her ex (‘He’s not as good looking as I thought he would be’) 2.) her best friend (‘Is she seeing anyone?) and 3.) her mother (‘Is she seeing anyone?’)

Unfortunately, caffeine consumption does have its downside. You may become jittery. You may perspire profusely. And nobody wants to date Richard Nixon. Make a speedy exit for the men’s room. You will need some time to regroup in this relative oasis of calm. After an hour, you may hear the police outside. They will threaten to enter, forcibly if necessary, with the assistance of a battering ram. At this point, you will likely be regrouped. Open the door before they break it down. Act indignant. Walk out. You may return later, if the impending Armageddon wills it so.

Victor’s Secret
When the salesperson asks if you want a shopping tote, by all means say yes. Tell her you’re searching for a gift for your mother’s/ sister’s birthday and, like any good shopper, you’d prefer to try it on first. Wink at her. Ask for her number. She will call security. The polyester Colonel Sanders costume will provide a level of aerodynamic-nessas you beat feet down the sidewalk. Toss the remaining chicken pieces behind you. They will act as a roadblock for would-be pursuers.

Yoga Crass
In anticipation of your awakening kundalini energy, do not shower for at least 96 hours. If anybody asks why you smell like a dead raccoon, inform him or her that you’ve just returned from a retreat in Nepal. As such, you have transcended mere matters of the flesh, one being personal hygiene. (This will make you seem more mysterious and otherworldly. Of course, this is a ruse.) Move in very close to your female partner during partner exercises. Whisper that you can feel her energy. Then, uninvited, you will place your palm upon her heart chakra. Most likely she will slap you. Or vomit. In the rare event that she does not, ask for her number. Inform her that you would be pleased to have her as a guest at the retreat in the Himalayas this summer.

Grocery Snore
Load your cart up with gummy fish, pork rinds, frozen salisbury steak meals and tubs of pure lard -- anything that screams ‘My health is a ticking time bomb’ or ‘I haven’t cooked a decent meal in my life.’ Casually toss some medicine for athlete’s foot on the top. Variety, my friend, is the spice of life.

Park your cart in the organic produce section to lure a lithe organic chef. Hold up a head of iceberg lettuce or a tomato. Examine it as if it were, in fact, a fallen meteoroid from the planet Melkor, something rare and precious, never before beheld by human eyes. Exclaim, in wide-eyed wonderment, ‘What is this? What is this?’ She will most likely be confused. Catch her before she runs away. ‘Did you know lard is a health food?’ you will mention, of course non-chalantly. ‘My great-grandmother used lard every day and lived to be one-hundred! One-hundred!’ Invite your lady over for dinner: lard-battered gummy fish. How could she resist?

Repeat the cycle as many times as necessary. Pass go. Collect $200.

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