run while you can

Smirkable (Nonsensical Humor).

A gentleman waits.

Women! Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Summer 2010.

“After you, darling.” No response.
“I hold doors for everyone…” Silence.
“Even feminists…” Mouth agape.
(good practice, girly girl. Just wait)…

“This restaurant is highly rated.” Only a sigh.
“I have a reservation… table for Mr. — AHEM!
Who needs a ditzy hostess anyway? This way...”
(I drop some grandiose gesture, point out our table)…

“This corner is charming, no?” An unenthused nod.
“To tell you the truth, I requested this table.” A startled stare.
“Sometimes it is appropriate to swing your weight around.” A chuckle.
(good thing I am not sensitive about my gut; I earned it)…

“Business has been good; dinner is on me.” Furrowed brow.
“No, no, I insist. And drinks after too!” A shrug.
“I am a venture capitalist, mostly money markets,” A smirk.
(a smirk is a partial smile; we’re getting somewhere)…

“Have you ever seen the city at night?” A confused look.
“Of course you have. I mean from a high-rise apartment…
my high-rise apartment.” A roll of the eyes.
“Well, you must. No funny business…”
(unless you want to tickle my funny bone)…

“I swear. Chivalry is my middle name,” A groan.
(only one step removed from a moan)…
“We can take my car.” A cold stare.
“It is an import, German by design.” A giggle.
“I know! Engine purring, she makes me giddy too,” A pushed chair.
(the bathroom, of course: Women!)

“Ah. She returns at last.” A raised brow.
(now sit down!)…

“Is something wrong?” A snatched jacket.
(oh please)…

“Where are you going?” A turned back.
(I know that’s your better half but)…

“Should I wait?!?” Silence still.
(sonofabitch! another fruitless bill)…


Pick me up.

All for an imaginary woman. On my desk. Summer 2010.

You look pretty thick.

Are you at least…

sexually explosive?


You always do this.

Ride it like a wave, brah. 100th post!


The window suggested cannibalism.

Brain, eat your heart out. Madison, WI. Spring 2010.


Soulmates in cyberspace.

Not between the Tigris and Euphrates. Mt. Baker-Snoqualmine National Forest. Summer 2009.

I read your profile on eHarmony.

Or maybe it was Match.com;

whatever, you’re a stud muffin.

I find your hair absolutely irresistible.

You like movies and music?

You eat food? Me too, me too!

Let’s eat food together.

And talk about the future.

Or maybe just our dreams.

You’re in all of mine, sugar pie.

Chasing you, a mirage in the desert.

I want your waterfalls and tropical fruit.

I’ll redefine original sin in your paradise.

The sauciest details are on the table–

if only you’d respond to my messages.

All I want is my macho man.

I don’t disappoint. I promise.

Me as a macho man. Naturally. First Spooner Household. Fall 2007.


Some say: ‘disgustingly unnatural.’

...others left speechlessly satisfied.

Tuna ‘n  Doritos: an altogether American update on the classic ‘fish and chips.’


Prone to this type.

A friend and fellow drifter, TKO, in Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest, WA.

Making boulders look comfortable: a bolder bed.