You must imagine that the title is said in the most flat inflection you could ever imagine. There’s no excitement there, it is more of a “Why on Earth would you think I was excited by your pathetic come-on?”

When I wrote Click-Hiss, I didn’t expect the response it would get in comments, about the pathetic pickup lines he was using. I had looked at it being a vant on those annoying walkie-talkie phones. But I guess I did complain about the utter loserness like quality of his whole approach to Cute Girl. Lately we of the Green Ducky Universe have been discussing pickup lines and how cheesy they are. This, and the comments left, have inspired a post (yeah, because what doesn’t inspire a post for me. Oh, look, there is a squirrel. Perhaps I will write someday about my pet squirrel named Grape Nuts).

First off, I bring you the comment left by Jenny of All Eyes On Jenny fame (She amuses me. So therefore I have declared that she is famous. I can do that. If you haven’t checked out her site yet, I recommend it. Her designs are amazing). My comments are in italics.

“This story just made me chuckle. Especially the “any questions?” part, it is my favorite! Poor guy. Poor everyone else that had to deal with him. Believe me, he did annoy me a lot but after awhile, I was just laughing at him. It’s getting to be where I constantly have to have a notebook with me because you never know when you’ll find blogging material.

Also, let me tell you sometimes having the name ‘Jenny’ can be a curse (damn that Tommy Tutuone), but other times when you you come in contact with a whiny guy it can be a blessing: whiny guy won’t go away? Slip him a napkin that says 867-5309/Jenny and tell him you’re busy but to call you later. Ususally those whiny guy types are so far gone, they don’t even notice. It’s sad, but sometimes it just has to be done. You know, when I wrote this, I completely forgot that I “knew” a Jenny. I can imagine that is both a blessing and a curse. Beth, of course, has to deal with the Beth song by Kiss. Apparently there is a song named Dana Marie but do I know it? No. Do men sing it to me? No. Sigh.

Wow I just came off sounding WAY cold and WAY more heartless than I really am. I assure you, it’s only come to the twice in the past. I’m just going to stop talking now.” Please. That’s not heartless. That is very funny. Heartless would be if you cut them into little pieces and feed them to your dog.

And Robert~Marlene also provided us with some of the pickup lines he’s received. As a drag queen out in California, I have been impressed with the pictures he posts of his alter ego Marlene in all her glory. He also recently provided me with some glamour tips that I may actually do something about. But I have to admit, I am extremely lazy and don’t think I could ever put that much time into my appearance. Anyway, here’s what he had to say. Again, my comments are in italics.

“I’m endlessly amused by lame pickup attempts. Back when I was young and pretty, my favorite pickup technique belonged to the men who seemed to think that openly insulting me would get my juices flowing. Oh, yes, insult me, baby. That just makes me so hot. Call me fat! Do it!

‘You bleach your hair?’ one asked with a sexy growl, ‘Wow, you must be really stupid. You wanna go out to my truck with me?’ Oh, yes, you have confused me with your logical pickup line. Let’s go.

or better yet…

‘You’re really hot… normally I don’t like drag queens, they’re an embarrassment to the gay community, but you’re an exception. Why do you do drag? I bet you’re really hot as a boy. You shouldn’t do drag.’ Okay, wait. They’re an embarrassment to the gay community but you’re an exception. That is the worst thing I’ve ever heard. That is on par with ‘Oh, I don’t think gays should be allowed to marry but I’m not against gays. I have gay friends.’ If you don’t get the whole drag thing, well, that’s fine. But it’s not fine to insult someone.

For him I invented the patented Marlénè-Whup, where I slowly withdrew one of my opera gloves as this cretin went on dissing my sisters (and, indirectly, me) and displaying an enormous amount of ignorance as to his own cultural history as a gay man, and once off I dampened the fingers in my cocktail, wound the glove up like a wet towel, and swacked him right across the face with it.

It was amazingly satisfying… for me, anyway: he was so drunk I don’t think he felt it, and he kept going on and on, trying to feel me up. I eventually had to walk away. Fortunately, there were plenty of witnesses, and the Marlénè-Whup passed into legend. Damn! I wish I would have seen that. Or thought of it. When people annoy me, I just grip a fork tightly and make stabbing gestures. But then Beth takes the fork away. Which, let’s be honest here, is probably a good thing. Maybe I should start wearing opera gloves.

Both Beth and I have documented the tales of how, when we are at karaoke, men are drawn to her like bees to a flower (Beer Goggles 1, Beer Goggles 2, etc). While they have not necessarily tried pickup lines on her, they have made their interest in her obvious by their vigilance in concentrating on only one part of her body. Word of advice, men of the internet. Staring at a woman’s chest while you talk to her is not a way to win her heart over.

The lines used on Beth most often are “Do you want to sing a duet? How about Picture?” Lately she has won the affections of a man who, while staring at her chest, strokes his moustache and calls her Elizabeth. First of all, eww. The moustache stroking is not sexy. It is also not a turn-on that he deliberately calls her by what he has construed to be her full name (Her name is not Elizabeth. Her mother specifically named her Beth). He has not yet, however, asked her to sing Picture. We are waiting for it to happen.

The one guy (formerly known as THE BOY. Now known as the boy) who looked her in the eyes, the one who was friendly but flirtatious and made her completely giddy has not shown up since she gave him her phone number. Stupid, stupid, stupid boy.

As for myself, there has been the occasional line used on me. Many years ago, when I used to hang out at the Pig’s Lung, an apparently nice young gentleman approached me and began a conversation with me. After about five minutes, he says “What are you going to make me for breakfast tomorrow morning?

Um. Nothing. I have known you for five minutes. And, while during this time, it was not abnormal for me (due to many insecurities and a need for someone, oh God, anyone, to like me) to have sex with random strange men – this was so pathetic that even I rejected it. When I tell him no, sorry, I’m not planning on cooking for you, his response is that I should consider myself lucky that he’s showing any attention to me at all. Because I am fat.

Wow. That sure showed me. I better give you a quick blow job right here in the bar for not recognizing how this is quite possibly the most spectacular day of my life. You are willing to have sex with me. I am sure you will be the best lover I ever have as well and I will write odes to your virility and splendor.

Not.

Another incident took place while I was looking for work in downtown Saint Paul. At the time, I lived in an area where the bus would pick you up at 3 specific times in the morning (7, 8 and 9 AM) and drop you off at 3 specific times in the evening (5, 6 and 7 PM). So if I had an interview at 1:00 PM, I would travel downtown on the 9 o’clock bus and hang out at Galtier Plaza for the majority of the day. Which, honestly, not such a big deal for me. As long as I have a book, I can wait for anything. I rarely ever get bored.

Anyway, I am waiting downtown on Tuesday because I had an interview. During the lunch rush, I look up and there is this guy looking at me. He smiles, I smile, we do this bit of flirtation thing from across the room. When he leaves to go back to work, he rides up the escalator watching me. I felt a bit of regret that this was the end.

But it wasn’t. On Thursday, I had another interview. During the lunch rush, he approaches my table and asks if he can join me. I say yes. He introduces himself, I introduce myself, we start talking. There is smiling and laughter going on. It’s great. He is really nice and wearing a suit and is very cute.

Then it happens. He asks me to dinner. I say that would be lovely. He then asks me, casually, “Are you married?” I say, puzzled, that of course I’m not. Warning sirens go off in my brain. I ask “Are you married?” Expecting, of course, that he will say “No, I wouldn’t ask you to dinner if I was married.”

He didn’t say that.

No, what he did say was “Yes, I am. But I’m looking for some more variety in my life.”

Variety? You are looking for variety? What the hell is that? Oh, you want variety. Okay. Let’s go, buddy. I have absolutely no self-respect. I’ll be more than happy to sleep with you.

I remember that I stuttered something about being flattered but no, I don’t date married men.

Last Sunday, while at karaoke, there were several girls there that were loud and obnoxious and truly irritating. They had two male friends with them, one who roamed the bar drunkenly (and came very close to being pummeled for grabbing one of the women sitting at Beth’s and my table), the other had a mullet (and it was curly. That’s even more attractive) and stared off into space and really kind of creeped me out a little.

Anyway, apparently these girls all worked at a strip club here in the Twin Cities. One of them is a stripper, the other two are waitresses. One of the waitresses looks familiar to me but I can’t place her. She does, however, break one of the cardinal rules of karaoke by singing Picture. Oh My God, she must DIE. But I do not kill her because I just made the New Year’s Resolution not to kill anyone this year. I would really hate to break a resolution only 2 days into the New Year. And, if it’s not bad enough that she sang Picture, she also sucks at it.

We are joking later on, when this girl gets called up again to do another duet with the stripper, that they will probably sing the Grease song Summer Nights. Which is a great song, if you do it right. We’re pretty sure they’re not going to be able to handle the doing it right part. But oh, no, it’s not Summer Nights. It’s Piano Man. I love Billy Joel. Don’t get me wrong. The man has an awesome voice. But I am not overly fond of this song.

Drunk Girl (non-stripper) starts wandering around with the cordless mic. She ends up standing behind me, singing to me. Weird. Then she goes to Beth and sings to her. She wanders around a little more and then ends up behind me again. All of a sudden her arm ends up around my shoulder and her hand starts moving down.

Yes. Down. In that area. I know. I was a bit shocked myself.

After she moseys off, I lean forward and say to both Michael and Beth “I think she just grabbed my boob.” They find this amusing. Michael asks if I had fun. My response was “Does she look like Halle Berry to you (For the most part, I am rarely ever attracted to women. However, Halle Berry is an exception to that rule. She is beautiful and sexy and I’m going to stop right now before I embarrass myself)?”

The shirt I am wearing looks like scrapbooking paper. It is green and there are multi-colored words all over it. Imagine and Love and others.

I say “I may have Fun and Bliss emblazoned across my breasts but that does not mean it’s an advertisement.”

Later in the car, on our way back to Beth’s, I tell her that I have never been so grateful for gravity in all my life. When Drunk Girl went in for the grab, she mainly just got flab. Due to gravity and the lack of a really good bra, my breasts tend to sag. My nipple, instead of pointing perkily at people, sadly points towards my knees. Pointing the way, if you will, towards where my breasts will end up in a few years.

And it finally dawned on me why Drunk Girl seemed so familiar to me. A few years ago, before Jeff and I became roommates, we rarely saw each other and so he would call me and would take me to gay bars. I would actually dance during this time. Which is scary and I am not going to dwell on it because the only dancing I know (outside of the waltz and the Hustle) is to move my feet in a desperate shuffle.

One such night, he brought me to the Saloon (love these descriptive names for bars. The Saloon. The Chalet. Is there one called The Bar?) and I was standing there with him and 3 of his friends, waiting for the dancing to start. We were killing time by watching something on television, possibly Queer As Folk, and commenting on how incredibly hot the men on it were. I think there may have been incredibly hot men kissing which is quite the turn on. So there I am, surrounded by incredibly hot gay men, watching incredibly hot gay men kiss and I am quite happy.

This woman comes out of nowhere and starts talking to me. I really don’t remember what she said or anything, I was in sensory overload and I was with Jeff and wanted to spend my time talking to him. She leaves after a little bit and Jeff, Mike and his other friends are laughing at my bemused expression. “You do realize she was hitting on you, right?” I am asked.

Um. No. I had no clue. I have no clue as to why she would be hitting on me. I am rarely ever hit on.

Later that evening, after Beth had shown up with Adam and his boyfriend at the time, we are all dancing. Adam and his boyfriend are making out so Beth and I start dancing together. This is nothing new for me, when I used to hang out at Pig’s Lung, Becky would drag me out onto the dance floor a lot. So I don’t really think anything of it.

The woman from before comes over to me. “I thought I would let you know I was leaving.”

Okay. Bye.

She then looks Beth up and down, concentrating in the chest area and says “Mmm. You’re going to have fun tonight.”

Well, yeah, every time Beth and I hang out, we do have fun. Oh, wait…Now I get your meaning. Okay. No. That is not going to happen. I love Beth but I am not in love with her. Besides, Beth doesn’t look anything like Halle Berry either.

Anyway, that’s it. Pickup lines and gropings. How about you, dear reader? Have you ever had any frightfully pathetic pickup lines? We would love to know.

Previous Comments:

At 12:25 AM, brooksba said…
DM,Great post. I laughed quite a bit. Pick-up lines, oh, why were they created? This is so sad, isn’t it?I’m trying to think of the lines I’ve heard. I don’t get hit on often either. At least, I’m oblivious to it if it is happening. I think the guy at the gas station hit on me one night. He didn’t have a specific line though, he just made it a point to tell me what his schedule was and that he hadn’t seen me in there for a few weeks. Like I’m supposed to change the nights I want to buy something after work to suit him. You don’t think I look like Halle Berry? Well, I guess that’s fine with me. Actually, I’m quite happy that you don’t think that. I love you, but I don’t have those feelings for you either. Beth
At 11:28 PM, Firebear said…
I like this post, its very funny and true to life. Reminds me that I have to blog a little bit more (before DM starts sending me those threating emails again, and dm i did send you a twelve page short story! that should buy me a couple more days! remember hurt wrist!) I have never used pick up lines, just seemed silly to me. I have had some used on me, but in my usual way i didn’t notice until i either thought about it, or someone told me later. (Dude, she was like all into you!)The ones that stand out in my head.1) I would give you my number but I don’t have a pen. Do you have a pen at your apartment, cause I can just follow you there. (to which I replied, That is ok, I have pen and paper in my car, be right back.)2) I have the rights to adapt a novel for a movie script, why don’t you come up to my hotel room and I’ll let you look at it. (to which I replied, I can’t today, maybe next time you are in town, and this is true, i have witnesses to this.)3) I really like your eyes, I could stare into them all night. (Really, well i have to head out and get some sleep. Bye!)4) I have a really nice tattoo on my chest, I bet if you lick it, you’ll find it taste good. (yes this one was real, I think I replied something about the guys i’m with are leaving, maybe next time)Did I mention I am sooooo happy not to be single anymore! I will blog on the date with the woman who hated clowns soon!Larry
At 8:44 AM, CarpeDM said…
Oh, my God! Lick my tattoo, it tastes good?No way. No freakin’ way, man. No way.Why would you lie to me? I believe you. That is one very strange woman.

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