Challenges Challenges
Ok the words were the same because the blurb was the exact same text as the article. Perhaps I should come up with a new rule. #12 from headliner article, and #12 from the first article under “latest news,” provided it isn’t a “video.” Going by those rules, the words would be “Exit Challenges.”
I’m not too pleased with “Exit Challenges,” but instead of thinking them over I’m just going to dive right in and see what comes.
“The strategies vary, depending on her breed.”
“Breed?”
“Yeah, breed. The breed is going to determine your best course of action to get from A to B.”
“B being the-”
“Yes, B is B, we went over this.”
“Right, so we did.”
“Breed is going to determine what route you take to B, what possible roads lead from B, and of course all of your exit challenges.”
“Exit challenges? What are those?”
“Your exit challenges are the hurdles you must bypass to extricate yourself while avoiding dire consequences.”
“You mean like Sylvia.”
“Exactly. Those, my friend, were some fucking dire consequences.”
“Ok, so, how can you sniff out a breed?”
“Sniff out? Don’t be vulgar, mate. We’re not talking about bitches here, man, we’re talking about bitches.”
“Fine, fine. How can you… uh… how do you know what breed they are?”
“Just watch for the signs. See that one over there?”
“The one with the beer?”
“Yeah. Look at her. She hates that beer, she grimaces when she drinks it–and not the good beer grimace. She’d rather not be at a place like this, but she’s old…ish. She’s afraid at this point in her life if she hasn’t found anyone willing to stick with her then perhaps she’s no worthwhile traits. So, come to an alcohol joint, use beer instead of ratty clothes to fit in, and hope someone bites.”
“Is she looking for a hus-”
“Nah, man. She’s looking for a screw. Look at her, she’s too smart to find a husband here. So when we’re looking to get to B, we’re looking at exit challenges. If you play things straight with a breed like that, you’ve minimized your challenges. Now, that’s usually the end of the equation–”
“What breed is she?”
“I just told you.”
“Yeah but, what is that type of breed called? Not looking for a husband, trying to fit in, higher class. What breed is that?”
“What the fuck do you mean what breed? That is her breed.”
“Yeah but like, what do you call that breed?”
“… a doberman fucking pincer, ok?”
“Ok”
“So with her breed, if you’re–”
“Doberman”
“Yes, fucking doberman. Shut the fuck up. With her breed, if you’re her type, no exit challenges. If you’re not her type and, for whatever reason, you really want to hit–”
“Whatever reason?”
“Exactly, for any reason. If you really want–”
“But what would the reason be?”
“I dunno, you like her eyes or some shit. So if you’re not her type and her eyes have got you locked down, that’s when getting to point B is going to present some exit challenges. Because to get to point B you’ve got to lie to her. You’ve got to hook her. You’ve got to pretend to grimace when you drink your beer, look out of sorts, smile at her as if embarassed by your own presence here, make it look like maybe you’re the guy she thought didn’t exist.”
“The husband she wasn’t looking for.”
“Precisely. So now you gotta look to that breed and scope your exits. She’s not going to let you go if you’ve sunk her proper, and she’s not gonna bone ya if you haven’t. She’s no fool, but she does have her weaknesses.”
“So what does dealing with a doberman pincer suggest?”
“With her? Slowly drop hints that you’re married. You can’t just come out and say it. But whenever you give her that look of love, you visually second guess yourself, as if pondering and slightly guilty. But don’t show that look at the beginning, you gotta save it. Meanwhile, little things that point to the life of a married man will do you good, if she seems a little ungrounded you can try something risky, like accidentally bumping into her and handing her flowers that were ‘meant for your wife,’ and just claiming that they must’ve printed the name on the card wrong.”
“Heh, that’s good.”
“I know it’s good, I invented it. Anyway, you let her figure out on her own that you’re married, just be careful about it. You can’t have her suspecting and not knowing, lest she get a PI on your ass and the whole show was for naught. The evidence needs to be plenty. She figures it out and realizes life has once again shown her that all the good ones are taken.”
“Or gay.”
“Yes… or that… So anyway, she’ll–”
“You know. Gay would probably be a great way to avoid some of these exit challenges.”
“–accept, and have expected, that life is shitty. She’ll either break it off violently (but a short term violence, no dire consequences–after all you’ve proven yourself a stand up guy), or she’ll confront you, hoping to work things out.”
“No chance she’d be content with the situation?”
“Not this breed. If she confronts you, break down. Cry, be ashamed, tell her you understand why she has to leave–if you say that she won’t. Then, whenever you want to end it you make up some bullshit about a life changing event spontaneously bringing you and your wife back together. Perhaps she was cheating on you too, and you’ve come clean and reconciled and you feel that perhaps you can make it after all.”
“Wouldn’t that worsen things?”
“Not with this breed. She’d be happy for you, and be back at this bar within a month.”
“Back here? So I shouldn’t go for it?”
“… no you, Franky. Not with this breed.”