In the Seventies, I bet it was a lot easier to talk to girls. I mean, first off, everybody was sort of wearing this ridiculous, clown-like clothing, and everybody had ridiculous, clown-like hair, and well…I just bet it was easy to talk to girls.
Because if they ever rejected you, you could just say, “Well. OK. But have you looked at yourself in the mirror? I mean, it’s not Halloween.” And they’d cry, see, because they’d realize how silly they looked, and then you’d say, “There, there. It’s OK. Why don’t we have sex?” And then, at this point, you would have all the sex.
You see, this type of thing is not possible in the decade we live in now, which is often called “The Two Thousands,” but which I like to call “The FUTURE.” I mean, you walk up to a girl now, and she’s probably dressed pretty smartly. She’ll probably turn you down (the odds are good for this; I’ve done studies), and you’ll have no ammo. You’ll have to walk away sheepishly.
I propose this (fashion designers: LISTEN UP!): let’s start some stupid fashions up again. Like, let’s make it really cool to wear big boxes of metal and look like robots from Fifties sci-fi movies. Or let’s make it tres chic to wear bacon. Dammit, let’s make skirts out of beetles! Blouses made of crowbars! I wanna see a pants-suit lined with Christmas tree lights and pieces of lawn gnomes!
Because then, see, girls would become approachable again. If these drastic fashion trends don’t occur, I’m afraid I have no recourse but to continue my boycott of talking to girls. It’s a tough stance, I know. But until I go into a bar and see a cute, little brunette with a few slabs of bacon draped over her shoulder, I’m afraid it’s my only choice.
And it’s too bad.
Because from what I hear, I sure would like to have all that sex.
(sigh)