Man is the hunter; woman is his game:
The sleek and shining creatures of the chase,
We hunt them for the beauty of their skins.
- Alfred Tennyson
I woke up this morning, much to my surprise, and spat out the toy mouse my cat had apparently placed in my mouth to muffle my snoring. It hit the bedroom wall with a sort of splat sound and stuck for a second before it dropped to the floor. I fumbled around blindly on the nightstand by my bed for my eye chisel, then used the chisel end to remove the grout from my eyes and the little prybar on the other end to prise my eyelids apart. I then resignedly groped for the half-empty tumbler also sitting on the nightstand and downed it in a gulp. Much to my chagrin I found that I had been drinking Captain Morgan and goat urine again the night before. "Alas, I suffer the agenbite of inwit, Mimi," I said to my cat. Actually, what I said was "Mmph grkl," but after eight years of house pet bliss she knew what I meant.
Later while whimpering in the bathroom I recalled that one of the many great ideas I had hatched the night before was to open a flirting school, or more precisely, a flirting studio. This would be much like an Arthur Murray® Dance Studio except it would just be for flirting. Great idea, eh?
"Hulles, why on earth would you want to open a flirting studio?" I can hear you thinking. And by the way, your lips are moving as you think this. Just saying, is all. Anyway, the reason I want to open a flirting studio is for the simple reason that people need to learn how to flirt and, even more importantly, they need to learn how to react appropriately when being flirted with. So, in a spirit of public service that for once isn't court-ordered, I thought I would step up to the plate and educate everyone about flirtation. And charge everyone an arm and a leg for the privilege, of course.
This all came about because I inadvertently terrorized a couple of cute young lasses last night as I flirted with them. Being Hulles, noted raconteur, sex dog and man-about-town, normally I elicit cow-eyed adoration in the opposite sex when I deign to interact with them at all. Such was not the case last night, however. Granted, at times I can be a little heavy-handed ("Hey dollface, let me sex you down in the back of a limo. Now go rent the limo while I stay here and drink...") but last night I'm pretty sure I was only just slightly over the top a teensy weensy bit ("Hi honey, you're awfully cute, ever think about dating your grandfather?"). I guess I just scared the poor girls because they weren't expecting to hear that from some seedy old white guy who looks remarkably like a stalker and who in fact played one recently in the movies.
Fuck 'em, it's a beautiful world with sharp jagged edges and they should be made of sterner stuff.
But still, somebody should tell them that a person with an obvious sense of humor who says outrageously bizarre things to them is only flirting (and, by the way, amusing the bartender tremendously). So I'm going to teach them this in my Hulles Flirting Studio. I'll teach them how to distinguish flirting by a gentleman of distinction from harassment by a perverted creep (the words are mostly the same in each case but a viable sense of humor is the key here, as it is in so many things). I'll teach them how to flirt back even more outrageously so that much fun and laughter can be had by all. And I'll teach them how to politely tell the aforesaid gentleman of distinction to fuck off because he's not funny at all, he's just drunk, and tell him in such a pleasant and amusing fashion that he doesn't even realize he got the brushoff until the next morning when he winces as he reviews the previous night's adventures in the midst of an Olympic-class hangover (see agenbite of inwit, above).
My studio would also teach men how to flirt and be flirted with, but that's really the topic of another post I'll write someday so I won't go into that here. Suffice it to say that, much like an Arthur Murray® Dance Studio, I intend to employ extremely hot men and women as flirtation instructors so they can drive the forlorn and lonely people who enroll in my studio crazy with feigned affection. This is to make these poor sods sign up for class after class that they don't need and can't afford so that they can feel desirable for a few minutes a week. Sure it's cruel and heartless, but at least I'm not making them jerk and stagger about awkwardly all over the dance floor. They can even sit down while they flirt if they want. Maybe I'll even serve cocktails.
Wow, I just got a great idea - a lap flirt! Have to think about that one....
So if you'll excuse me, I'm off to find a storefront with a massive plate glass window on a busy thoroughfare so that people can feel like überdorks when they are seen taking my lame and overpriced flirting classes. I'm not sure why this is important but wiser heads than mine have convinced me that it is. Then I'll open up my flirting school and be able to call it The Hulles® Flirting Studio and be rolling in money and go live in Brazil and give up this blogging shit that doesn't pay squat. Oh yeah, and while I"m out looking for studio space I'm going to stop at the co-op and buy more goat urine. The stuff grows on you after a while, much like Jãgermeister or a bad case of jock itch.