I should have known better than to hire a zit-faced archer to do my dirty work. I figured with all the video games out today, that winged dope would have sufficient skills to land me love. Nope. Just like in ancient Rome, he infected himself with a loaded arrow before letting it fly and wound up falling in love with an unintended target.
“You … are a winged knucklehead.”
“Hey, it was an accident.”
“I give you one, simple task: Find a fit, childless woman in her forties and let an arrow fly for me. How the hell did you end up falling in love with a busboy?”
“Ramon is darling. You have no idea.”
“Fine. I sneaked into the wine bar and posed like a statue. Nobody noticed me for the longest time.”
“I guess the gray skin and tiny penis were uninteresting.”
“I’ll have you know that Ramon loves my tiny penis. In fact …”
“That’s quite enough. Now, what about my target?”
“Oh, yes, that. She finally came around to the well and began assembling her garnish–a lime here, an olive there.”
“Yes, go on.”
“She really was quite lovely in the soft bar lighting and dexterous too.”
“So, I yanked an arrow from my quiver and loaded my love bow.”
“Some old woman near me was wearing patchouli. You know how I can’t stand patchouli, boss. Grandma Venus used to wear it and since then it practically singes my nostrils.”
“Yes, I sneezed and in order to be polite and cover my mouth, I had to let go of the love torpedo, which embedded itself in my left foot.”
“You shot yourself with a love-potion-dipped arrow. How on earth did this result in your recent homosexuality?”
“Well, I’ll tell you. I instantly dropped the bow and jumped around yelling ‘ow’ and ‘fuck’ a lot. Suddenly, this sweet Mexican bar mopper came to my rescue, removed the arrow, and sucked the love venom from my foot, thus intoxicating himself with the potion and my juices.”
“He sucked your foot.”
“It was so sensual. I almost died. Now, we totally heart each other.”
“Are there any other Greek gods that I can summon who would enjoy beating little homo archers into bloody puddles?”
“Don’t be mean. You must come with me to meet Ramon tonight. We’re thinking of moving to Vancouver, getting married, and starting a greeting card company.”
“What about my love?”
“Oh, that. Um. Well, why don’t you just go back on Match.com? I hear one out of five people meet their significant other there.”
“That means four out of five don’t.”
“Hey, if at first, you don’t succeed, lie, lie again.”
So, I renewed my Match.com subscription today hoping this dating obstacle course truly is a numbers game. Mars help me.
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