Point
I Will Love You Until The Stars Fall From The Sky
Elaine, I will love you forever. I will adore you until the sun neither rises in the morning, nor sets in the evening as you lay your perfect cheek upon your pillow for slumber—usually after watching Trapper John, M.D. and spending 8-11 minutes in what I’ve surmised from my spot in the bushes to be your bathroom.
I will follow you to the ends of the earth, never taking leave of your breathtaking countenance, no matter where you go in your blue ’91 Honda Accord, license plate RJT-774.
When you first noticed me on the street you looked down and rushed past me, never letting our eyes meet. I fell in love at once with your gentle bearing, certainly the superior breeding of a young lady schooled at Moline Central Senior High.
Now your eyes burn red when you see me. You shout when you notice me drop onto the roof of your car from off an overpass ramp.
The words you say are confusing to me—I must be hearing them wrong—but I can see the passion in your actions. When you walk out of a restaurant and spot me just behind you in the bushes, your breath quickens. The very sight of you fills me with excitement as well! It is now time to drop the formalities and move forward in our relationship. So how about joining me this Friday for a movie, some Arby’s and a night filled with physical love?
Counterpoint
Please Stop Calling Me
Are you some sort of a freak? Leave me the hell alone. Stop sending me things in the mail and quit killing large game animals for me.
Stop calling me at home. Stop driving by my house. Stop looking in my windows and stop parking your van at the end of my block. I know it’s yours because of the satellite dish.
Please don’t follow me anymore. You’re scaring all my friends away. I tried to act like I don’t know you, but you always wear the T-shirt with my picture on it and that red heart button that says, “I Love Elaine Forever And Ever And Will Never Stop Loving Her, Even If She Sends Me To Jail.”
My co-workers all notice you sitting on the bench outside my office building for eight hours straight each day. Go away.
Stop placing listening devices inside of apple pies and leaving them on my kitchen table. And you may as well quit paying private investigators to collect information about me, too, because when one of them in the grocery store says to me, “Hi, how are you today?” I always say, “You can tell your ‘boss’ to go to hell!”
Stop saying you’re a Jehovah’s Witness to get into my house. I didn’t fall for your dressing up as my Uncle Arthur, either.
This is your last warning. If you leave one more basket of plums at my front door, I’m calling the cops.
