Why do girls always throw themselves at me?

Boring morning inspired by Mark Leyner and this whack-job.

Is it my superior display of masculine prowess?

Is it because I speak with extra long words that are difficult to pronounce?

Words like floccinaucinihilipilification? Or maybe hippopotomonstrosesquipedalian?

Or is it my world-renowned command of advanced techniques in man on woman sensuality?

The following snippet about morning commute should answer all your legitimate questions.

Height/weight proportionate, please.


Dateline: December 1, Orange Line, 7:30 AM.

I am in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Brown Jean LaFont glasses with orange lenses to better stalk my prey. I’ve been leaving my Adams Morgan compound at 7AM since changing jobs. Different hours. Different commute. Different lovelies. Now the Orange line denizens of the female persuasion bear witness to this superior specimen of the male species. Deprived for far too long, they take it all in -- muscle mass, density, ripped definition, intensity, stamina, endurance, mental focus, dignity, flair

I’m practicing my pose downs on the train, Front Double Biceps, Front Lat Spread, Side Chest, Back Double Biceps, and signature Back Lat Spread, periodically flexing, winking, and pointing with a trigger finger to some of the nearby lovelies. My head bobbing in rhythm to music only I can hear. Much swooning results from my display. They are dazzled.

Soon, hands running up and down my washboard abs and kneading my rock hard glutes. A beautiful brunette asks me to bend something for her with a piece of iron rebar that she has along with her, having heard that my glutes can bend iron rebar into origami swan shapes. A gallery in Dupont has been selling my unique butt sculptures, what they call them anyway, so I’ve been practicing folding more difficult animals along with other forms of statuary. I bend her Artemis. Goddess of the Hunt. She gets off at East Falls Church before I can get a number.

Me you ask? Total fitness and power. Using extra big words in daily communication. Dignity and flair. Long Orange line commutes. Bending iron rebar with my ass. That is what I am about. And if you are tired of the flaccid “takers” of craigslist, drop me a line.