How do I love thee? Hmmm …. let me get back to you on that

Romantic-CoupleIf I say “The Washington Post,” you might think — big newspaper, watchdog on Washington, D.C., “All the President’s Men.” But how about … funny?

Right. Me neither.

But that changed when I read some of the entries sent to the paper during a poetry contest it held recently. Submissions had to be a two-line poem and consist of the most romantic first line (please refer to above picture), followed by the least romantic second line (please refer to below picture).

Fighting-Couple-630x420Some funny stuff. Here’s a few of them.

“My darling, my lover, my beautiful wife
Marrying you has screwed up my life.”

waking up screaming

“I see your face when I’m dreaming.
That’s why I always wake up screaming.”

“Kind, intelligent, loving and hot.
This describes everything you’re not.”

“Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss,
but I only slept with you ’cause I was pissed.”

Is it me, or do all of these sound like they were written by men? Oops, seems I spoke too soon.woman_likes brother

“I thought that I could love no other …
… that is until I met your brother.”

“What inspired this amorous rhyme?
Two parts vodka, one part lime.”

“Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet and so are you.
But the roses are wilting, the violets are dead, the sugar bowl’s empty … and so is your head.”

You know, some real thought went into many of the submissions here. Malicious ones? Perhaps. Potential circumstantial evidence? Possibly. But still, it’s the thoughts that count, right?

bag-over-head

“I want to feel your sweet embrace,
but don’t take the paper bag off of your face.”

unhappy dog couple

“I love your smile, your face and your eyes.
Damn, I’m good at telling lies.”

Yes, yes. Gratuitous use of yet another bulldog picture – guilty. But at least they fit the mood here. Sort of.

And finally, last but not least, viciously speaking …

“My feelings for you no words can tell,
except for maybe “Go to Hell.”

Sheesh. Can you just feel the love oozing all over here? Why it’s so strong, it’s almost … poisonous.

Oh, go kiss a frog already

Happy CoupleI’ve written about my junk mail before but lately it’s taken over all of my www-reading attention. For a few weeks every time I click open my Junk Inbox I find yet another woman who has never met me, never even seen me …

… but wants me. Baaaaaaaaaaad.

They can just feel it, every single one of them – that I’m the one. And they know this even though every one of them is writing me from aaaaaaaaaaaall the way in the Ukraine. I may be a little long in the tooth and short on stature, but they don’t know it nor care.

Sheesh – all of this admiration-from-afar is tough, I tell you. I’ve nearly had to splint my left-side mouse button finger, just from deleting all of them off.

Maybe Ukrainian men are more earthy, less refined than us American guys. And seems prone to being a tad generous when estimating their uh, manhood too.

Maybe Ukrainian men are more earthy, less refined than us American guys. Sure seem prone to being a tad generous when estimating their manhood too.

Yup, they know I’m their guy. Or so they tell me. But don’t take my word for it. For example, meet the most recent admirer-de-jour – Anny, or maybe as her close friends call her – Any.

“Hi, Mike”
(OK, so there’s a small issue with my name. What do you expect from a woman who spells her own name two different ways in the same email? Probably a Ukrainian cultural thing.)
“We’ve got only one life to live and I want to live it as good a I can.”
(It’s good to have a life plan. Admirable.)
“I’ve found you and now I can’t imagine how I lived without you for my entire life?!”
(Aw, shucks. I’m sure it wasn’t hard living all this time without me. Hellish, certainly. But probably not that hard.)
“I want to get used to you, I want to learn you, I want to accept you as you are.”
(Uh, OK. So, just exactly what do you mean by ‘learn you’? Not judging of course, just wondering.)
“I try to imagine you and in my own imagination I am already getting used to you: I am used to your eyes, soft and wise, to your hands, to your gentle touch. I haven’t seen you in real life, but inside, in my soul, I already feel how warm and happy your heart can be just from love.”
(My, see me blush. You Ukrainian women sure have a rather direct way about you, don’t you? That’s one powerful soul, er, imagination you got there.)
“I realize that there can be another sitting by your side, touching your hair, watching you, hugging you.”
(Damn, am I glad you brought my wife up here. Thanks, it sure spares me from one of those, shall we say, awkward moments.)
“However I know that, you can’t imagine my confidence, but I know that we can match. I don’t think our silence will help us, so I am here, at (web address.ua), and I hope that you will touch my heart with your letter soon, my dear. Yourth faithfully, Any.”

Count on it, my dearest Anny/Any. You just keep checking yourth mailbox. The letter’s in the mail.

From Russia, with love

Unlike nearly every other person with an email inbox out there, I don’t get a lot of spam or junk mail. I have no idea why – I’m just as depraved as the next web surfer, you’d think I’d have picked up at least a couple sketchy cookies in my history by now.

Oh, but I’m trying not to take it personally, though. Maybe I’m just too virtuous for such questionable communiques. Yeah, that’s it.

So, of course, whenever I do see a (1) next to my “Junk” folder name, I can’t click on it fast enough. If my Internet provider considers whatever’s in there to be of absolutely no value and no good for me … well, out of my way, let me at it.

Maybe it’s one of those wonder pills, herbal and all-natural, that will make me “hung like bull.” Or how about some “real” Viagra – just $10 (Canadian) for 1,000 capsules – to make me “love stronger and longer than many bulls!” Or could it be that my great-uncle in Nigeria finally kicked off and that $137 million he’s been holding for me in the Abuja Savings & Loan is mine, mine, mine!!! I thought he’d never die.

Anyway – imagine my surprise when I glanced over and saw a (1) today. What could it be?

Actually, this time it was who could it be. Someone named “S.B.” And the subject? “Transport of Love.”

Oh, my favorite! Another Russian woman I’ve never heard of has finally found me. Without even opening it, I can see her swimming in slow motion across the Atlantic, just to reach me! (And she would get here so much faster if I would just send her $1,000, for one of those slippery wetsuits and English lessons, don’t you know.)

I was not disappointed.

My dear friend,

Sometimes you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with your soul mate and you want to meet your beloved person as soon as possible.

Svet … is that you, Svet?

This twenty-first century letter speaks for my twentieth century soul.  And it does not matter that we never met in real life, never talked, touched or even hold hands. I feel like I want to know you better and you are the one for me.

That perfect man exists in my imagination and I am dreaming about meeting him all days and nights. We have to be patient in order to get what we want. I’d like you to know that I am waiting for my love, my dear.

See you later,

Svet B  

How nice. How sweet. And she sounds so genuine too. I must write her back. But there is no return email address, just a website. No, no, no – I can’t just click on a website. Where’s the heartfeltness, where’s the one-on-oneness, where’s the romance in that?

No, if this is true love, I shall write a letter to her here. No doubt … like Cupid’s arrows, it will find its way. For as that lovely saying about true love goes: If you love something, let it go. If it doesn’t come back, then may it eat shit and die. And if it does, it better have a damn good story for where’s the hell it’s been all this time.

My dearest dear, dear Svet,

How good to hear from you – I hope all is well. You must forgive me if I seem a little confused as I write this. After all, it has been a while since we last talked. Oh, that’s right – we’ve never talked now, have we?

No matter. How my heart swoons to hear that your twenty-first century letter speaks for your twentieth century soul! It just sucks, though, that your 17th-century Internet provider didn’t get this to me sooner. Drat and double-drat – as alas, I am already spoken for.

Actually, Svet dear, I’ve been bespeaked for quite some time now. And get this – she’s of Lithuanian descent! Can you believe it? I’ll bet you’re cursing the day your country ever let that little satellite fly the Soviet Union coop! Isn’t life strange, though.

Yes, yes it is. For as you so splendidly say, “it does not matter that we never met in real life, never talked, touched or even hold hands.” Can’t miss what you’ve never had, no?

So, as they say in my country, don’t be a stranger! Ta-ta and would be yours truly if I truly knew you,

G

Sigh – my first “Dear Svet” letter. Sealed with a kick.