Stalkers: "These stockings,"
he grinned, "are the first things to go!"-The Grinch
Who Stole Christmas
So it's a homonym, but it sounds real dirty taken out of context.
Just like the inappropriate affection expressed by the obsessed
is perceived as something unseemly by those with little perspective.
That these ships passing in the night can't dock together and roll
around on the beach From Here To Eternity is one more reason
why "They" hate America.
Stalkers get a bad rap. They're fiercely loyal, resourceful as
McGuyver and have that "sticktoitivness" that was so popularly
touted on elementary school posters right next to the quality "don'tbeatattletale-ousness."
They've got more steely resolve than a cabinetful of Bush
advisors. Those policy mouthpieces aren't even in the trenches like
our love-crazed maniacal friends. The Pentagon should employ these
mis-wired warriors as some sort of Terminator Supertroop, Rambo
Robocop part 6. (If it weren't for the fact that military programming
is responsible for much of the synaptic havoc that drives this sort
of behavior.) Just tell them Osama wants his Michelle Branch CD's
back and turn them loose to burn up his cell phone with "Kung-Pow"
Doesn't driving cross-country wearing diapers and a wig in order
to murder your rival with a trunkful of makeshift weaponry prove
your love? That's the stuff of Shakespeare for Chrissake.
The so-called "victims" in these scenarios should wake
up and smell the coffin, no one will love you as much as someone
willing to boil your rabbits. Naysayers be damned, nothing says
"I appreciate your artistic body of work" like riddling
said body with lead. Hell, James Blunt has made a career
out of lyrically haranguing former loves and now 50 million women
worldwide have a solid case for a "no contact" order against
him. Britney re-energized the stalking game recently by dating
a paparazzi, so don't give up hope fellas, the same prize could
soon be yours. (So can Britney, once Adnan Ghalib files a
restraining order against that crazy Grammy winning freak.)
Personally, I just lack the tenacity and time (let alone the funds)
required to stake out my various and nefarious exes. Several times
after a particularly nasty breakup, I've sputtered those infamous
words, "If I can't have you
oh, whatever." This is
the equivalent of running away to the circus. I got to the end of
the block and got tired of the rollerskates clunking around in the
suitcase and went home with my tail between my legs. Then I found
out my parents had a going away party after I left, so I fed the
dog a whole bar of Cadbury's. I just wasn't committed to seeing
it through, and women want commitment. But who in these crazy times
can devote their valuable days to creeping around like some Manson
family killer hippy?
Which is why I've started a service for similar on-the-go sufferers
of unrequited love. I've established a network of partners with
plenty of time on their hands to do the tedious business of looking
after your loved ones that you can't accomplish from your cell or
restrictive home monitor. Out of state? Restraining order? No problem!
Call Stalker By Proxy. Our motto: "We lurk hard
don't have to."
Send complaints to Bob Lind (Cook County prisoner #2000-5542219)
"The Elusive Butterfly"
"You might have heard my footsteps
Echo softly in the distance through the canyons of your mind
I might have even called your name
As I ran searching after something to believe in
You might have seen me runnin'
Through the long-abandoned ruins of the dreams you left behind
If you remember something there
That glided past you followed close by heavy breathin'"
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