Tuesday, June 22, 2004
a message to the girl who works at the Taco Bell at 95th & 2nd
Though we have spoken many times, often several times a week, I don't think we've ever properly met. My name is Jason Mulgrew. I am an internet quasi-celebrity, and I would like to spend the rest of my life with you.
As of now, you know me only as the sweaty guy who regularly orders two burrito supremes with no tomatoes and two soft tacos. And I know you only as the attractive woman of unidentified ethnic origin (Latin? Indian? Both?) who delicately makes and serves said burritos to me. But if given the chance, I know that we can get to know each other on a much deeper and nakeder level.
I know our relationship, though now only in its incipient stages, can grow to be something that we both (or at least I) can enjoy for many years to come. And I know that deep down, below your mascara that curves at the end making you look like a cat (but a sex-pot cat), and that little Taco Bell visor that I would surely ask you to wear during intercourse, you see some potential in me. Perhaps you realize that I am a man capable of endless love and devotion if I were only to find the right woman. Perhaps you sense that I am willing to never speak to my family or friends again if you asked me to. Or perhaps you saw one of the many occasions I took out a few $100 bills and showed them to you, mouthing the words, "This can be all yours - and more", in a sexy manner while rubbing the bills all over my chest and crotch.
I feel that we can learn about each other, and take interest in each other's hobbies. For example, the other day while waiting for my meal, I noticed you talking to a woman friend of yours who pulled out something out of her purse that looked like a mini blow-torch. I couldn't really pay attention to what you two were talking about because I was very hungry and the smell of that horse-meat slowly cooking in those bins brings me nearer to orgiastic delight than any woman ever could, but I'm guessing you're into metal work, possibly sculpture. Or possibly you use mini blow-torches to burn down homes, buildings, and churches. And you know what? I think that's great. I want you to show me your world, and if your world includes arson, well then I'll bring the kerosene.
I know you may be reticent because only a week ago I professed my love to another woman. I want you to know that she and I are over. She was a very unladylike and insensitive woman. What kind of "lady" attacks a man trying to give her flowers with pepper spray, especially after that man had been waiting outside her apartment for three days (without food or water might I add) just to get the chance to talk to her? The answer: a harpy and a whore. I want you to know that I would never forsake you - not for anyone. Well, except Lindsay Lohan. And Josie Maran and Elisha Cuthbert. And that stripper at Show & Tell in Philly who let me touch her boobs in the parking lot for $50 when I was coming down from my last coke binge.
I'm sorry - I'm getting a little side-tracked here, but the important thing is that I need you. And I need you to need me. Because, if you don't, well, you'd probably better get a permit to carry. But let's not let it get to that.
All I ask is that you think about it. And get back to me by this Friday via email by 5pm.
Love, always and forever,
This is what it sounds like when doves cry,
Eternally indebted to your will,