Oh! Why hello there. I couldn't help but notice that your boyfriend had to leave so suddenly. What's that? Oh my, somebody keyed "I'm a convicted sex offender" into his car. How awful. Who would do such a thing? It's almost as if someone wanted him to leave your side for a little while. But enough about him. How are you this fine evening? Oh yeah? Anniversary, huh? That's nice. Oh, my name's SweetMonkeyCreek. Huh? Oh, it's Nordic in origin, but the Portuguese swiped it when they ruled Ireland for an 8 month time span back in 1398. I learned all of that when I was earning all of my academic degrees from prestigious institutions across the globe. I think that last little factoid was from Mount Fuji Barber College.

Well, enough of this chatter. I've got something I've got to tell you and it's been all I can think about since I saw you for the first time 7 minutes ago. You are captivating. I look at you and I forget about my pet llama that's on life support. Your flowing dark hair absorbs all of the ambient light, moving like silk in the wind, and you've got calves that would make Sandy Duncan puke all over her nephews. But there's more. Your eyes sparkle from the light of the neon Corona sign hanging over the bar. I am completely unable to turn away from you. That fragrance? What is that remarkable fragrance? It's like an entire field of lilacs was set on fire by some sort of glorious fruit based neutron bomb. I don't even know your name and yet I know I want to apply for a 30-year mortgage with you. What are you drinking? Barkeep! Two more over here please! It's as if I was living a meaningless and empty life teaching those orphans how to respect themselves, until now. Now I just want to tell those stupid orphans to rot in hell, for I have a new purpose in life. You, my dear. It's you my love, my undying joy, my alpha, my omega, my subscription to "American Nudity Enthusiast", where every picture is you. I don't know what blood type you are, but I'm ready to die for you. It's as if God himself wanted to design some sort of human action figure, and you are the beautiful female that doesn't come with any sort of cool guns or anything. In these brief moments you've purchased my heart and burned the receipt. Life is worth living now that there's you.

Let's get out of here. We can go to my place. We can watch some old episodes of “Sanford and Son”, while I give you an erotic backrub; with oil I designed my self, made from grape seeds and Mr. Pibb. Then we can wheel my grandfather out of the room and into the hall and see where the mood takes us. I am skilled in 43 ancient arts of erotica, the non-lethal ones, and I'm prepared to use each and every last one on you. We'll make love so passionately that the neighbors will call a swat team and Sting will chop off his sexual organs in pure jealousy. Ours will be a love that they sing songs about and dedicate entire blocks of programming to on Cinemax. When the chafing becomes too much to bear, we'll leave this place and look for a new home in a new land, where our love will spread, toppling dictators and impregnating those that merely walk by our van when it's a'rockin'. You are my beautiful woman, my angel from heaven, my reason for being.

What's that? Huh? Your boyfriend...he's right behind me, isn't he? I signed my name on his car beneath the inscription, didn't I? Well, I thank you for your time. These precious moments you have given me will be the one memory I will take with me into the next life...which your 250 pound ex-con boyfriend is about to send me to. I don't know much, but I know that I love you. I’m coming home Grandma.

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