Creepliments!

*Creepliment du Jour*

It had been a long day for Left Hook with very little love. Could it have been my shoes? You’d think somewhere out there in the carnal swirl of Union Square, where Lefty was seated with La Mère Gaucher, enjoying the noontime sun, there’d be at least a handful of guys who appreciate the Dickensesque newsboy-meets-ragamuffin scuffed brown oxfords look. Besides, I was wearing a skirt.

So, on my way home, when a friendly fellow unloading a truck called out, “Hello, sweetheart!”, I felt encouraged to respond.

Left Hook: Hi.
Fellow (hissing): I like white girls.

Dude managed to take a regular catcall and magically transform it into a creepliment!

*Self-Creepliments*

Pistol Whip and Left Hook are seated with mirror-view at Youpers.

Pistol Whip: Damn, look at our arms. At our muscles.
Left Hook: Seriously.
Pistol: Hot.
Lefty: Fuck yes.

Beat.

Lefty: When I run at the gym I stare at my arms in the reflection. I can’t get enough.
Pistol: I do that with my legs!
Lefty: I run, and I look at myself, and I think, “Amazing.”
Pistol: I’m pleased to learn that you do this, too. I feel slightly less creepy now.
Lefty: Well, you do have awesome legs. You should stare at them as much as you want.

*Creepliment, Uncreeped*

When a BLACK DUDE does a double-take going down the stairs for the uptown R train while you’re going up, and you have a slight hangover from drinking too much and staring at yourself in the mirror too much, an ordinary display of secksual interest becomes a SuperOak compliment of the highest order.

Sometimes it just counts more when it comes from a brother.

Creepy? I don’t think so.

by Left Hook | 4 May 2007 | bone zone | Comments