To Conor With Love

Subject :   Feb 10 2003 Conal
Date :   Tue, 25 Mar 2003 11:23:48 -0900
Here's a wee poem I wrote this morning after talking to you and . .well, it was inspired by your lovely friend, his letter and things you have said about him and .. who knows what all.

The Torpid Cow:

 The Torpid Cow wallowed blithely in the grass

Hurling out chunky cud of what had tickled upon it’s tail

Waiting for gun-slinging man to make his way past

Dreaming of a brighter day when it had run along the trail

The Torpid Cow did not cower in fear as the man he did take aim

For it knew that biker proverb  as well as it knew that it was lame

Time to go; as is the way of life, that we ever are free range

So it waited peacefully; and the colour that ran was not o’range

The Torpid Cow made a fine, tasty meal for hundreds who came flocking

The crows, the men, the foxes, the bears all crowded and consumed

Crying for liver while tongue was in cheek, they all went to balking

So say the experts based on study of the Torpid Cow, exhumed

‘Here lays beneficent bones, sad remains of a bovine friend

Who never did a dirty deed or followed a fascist trend’

Yet what do these ones know of a time before their birth?

How could they say  that THIS is how Torpid Cow met earth?

The Torpid Cow is gone away, no clear records now remain

Only what guesses as to it’s  nature and tendencies reveal

But such guesses, while interesting, are in truth in vain

For it was executed for unnaturalness; having dined on veal.

Copyright ©2003 Arletta Sloan

2-10-2003    Written for Conor



You can show it to him or not, as you like. Much as you can ask him the vital questions which follow, or not, as you like.

 What is wrong with people, Paul?   And are you one of the people who has something wrong with them? If you are, perhaps you won't understand.

 It's just that I keep getting to know people, who seem like nice guys, and really who are nice guys, but then ...

Okay this is both inappropriately sexual and demented.Advice and or commiseration needed.

 They get to the point, eventually, where they make it quite clear that they want me to stick my tongue up their ass.  Or vice versa, or both at once.

Which I must admit would probably be a great feeling .. but a lousy taste .. and it would probably kill me. I don't have the immune system to support that sort of weirdness.

My list of wants, as regards the perfect man, grows!



Over 5 foot tall and under 8 foot tall ( I don't want anyone spraining their neck just to get a kiss)

barking mad but not actually a dog

Does not want to stick his tongue up anyone's ass or vice versa

Will send me the song.  The one we discussed.

Irish.  No offense to anyone who is not Irish. Irish by blood, which can be mixed, and/or by virtue of being raised there and of similar mentality whether by blood or just oxegyn deprivation.

Unabashadly himself

Able to watch pornos and see the idealisms of natural selection defined within the micro-cosmic realm of ... or able to watch the Smurfs and react as if it is a porno and a good one.

Understands the vital importance of crooning T-Rex lyrics into my ears "Well , she ain't no witch and I love the way she twitch  ah hah"

When asked to make the beast with two backs, immediately rushes out and to by sculpturing material and also a bucket of fried chicken or ribs.

Is not the real Slim Shady and stays comfortably seated to prove it

Tries to win a democratic election with the slogan "Breastfeeding .. it's not just for breakfast anymore."

Would wear bright orange pants to the opera .. or a tuxedo to a dude ranch. Would not apologize for either.

Thinks that the rain is God's way of evening things out for the poor, so they can run about their house and do laps in the water just like the rich do in their swimming pools.

When presented with a dish that has things in it that he doesn't like, such as broccoli, will quietly take the pieces out and eat it anyway. Then beg the cook not to do it again the next time he notices her chopping the offending ingredient up, or somesuch.

Reads Reggie The Evil Milkshake and lauds it as pure brilliance

Actually I havent' finished any Reggie The Evil Milkshake story yet, so there. Nor have I made a real and proper list of what I want in a man.

This lady had us do that once, the idea being that if you did this, made a list of what you thought you really wanted, and what you definitely did not want, then narrowed things to what you could live with and what you could not live without, then you would have a much easier time of finding the right man. You would have a firm grip on what you wanted and could say .. uhm .. no .. that's not you. Or maybe quit rejecting men who were oh so good on many levels but were too poor or .. okay, so that bit makes sense.

Only I got as far as he would be Irish, have brown or black hair, brown eyes, be around 5'10", not a heavy drinker, not a drug user, very affectionate but not clingy, and, of course, a nutter. Or, whatever Sean turns out to be. Sean being the guy I fancied myself madly in love with at the time. Who was most of those things, except he drank too much and he was a slutty little freak .. who also had a thing for misplaced tongues, but that wasn't the half of his problems. So ...

 The thing is, I don't know how to make up any such list, because, for one thing .. I told you that I think there is someone out there who is right and I have no idea of what he looks like, or anything. So I would hate to categorize things and weed him out.

 Besides, I am not always the same. And that's what it comes down to. I mean,  I need a man who suits me, right? And to suit me, he would have to be changeable, and insane, and wonderfully rational, stable, brilliant, enjoy really dumb stuff, a slutty pervo, Jesus type. Like me, but with smaller tits and a bigger penis.

My rambling is done for the day. You shall have to pardon me, but I am feeling very restless ... sometimes it hurts, because I can feel that there is someone out there, and I wish he would hurry up and get here so I could make him spaghetti and find out if he likes Clint Eastwood movies.


If you happen to run into him, by the way, remind him about the song and ask him how he feels about cobalt blue glassware as I have a wee dessert cup for him made out of just such.

 Thank you for putting up with me.
Bye, for now

Arletta

Subject :   Derrr ... (about me) Feb 14 2003 Conal
Date :   Tue, 25 Mar 2003 11:25:13 -0900
Sorry. I think I wasn't making much sense last night. I was really tired and then my sister started talking to me, wanting me to answer back and .. so, I think I said things rather wrong.

Uhm .. it's not that I don't like Conor, because I do. It's that, for one, I don't celebrate Valentines Day. I wouldn't be mortally offended if someone sent me a valentines, at least at first. But I might get that way later, just because if you know someone doesn't celebrate .. you know.

Anyway, for two, we don't even really know each other, aren't dating, no marriage has been arranged and to the best of my knowledge he has not become so instantly smitten that all thoughts rational have departed his brain. So, sending a Valentines to him, or anything like one, would be more than a little presumptive and, I imagine, taken badly as it should be.

If we did know each other better, or were dating, or you kidnapped us at gunpoint and forced us to wed, or he'd gone instantaneously loopy, then by all means I would send him something. Not for Valentines day, but just for him.

Does that make sense?

Arletta

Subject :   To Conor, if you please (Feb 15th, 2003)
Date :   Tue, 25 Mar 2003 11:26:02 -0900
Hello again, Conor

It occured to me, just a few minutes ago, that you might have taken my comments about country music as a bit meaner than I meant them  I was joking, honest.

Country music is like fish and vegetation. Not really bad, in fact it can be in quite good for you; but first someone has to hold you down and feed it to you.

I grew up listening to all sorts of music, including Johnny Cash. It's like most any music, there's things I like and things I don't. I don't like most of the really twangy, tear jerking songs. You know, the ones that inspired this joke:
Well, when you play rock n roll backwards, you hear messages from the devil. Everyone knows that; but what do you get when you play country music backwards?
You get your dog back, you get your wife back, you get your truck back, you get your pappy back ...

I have a problem with Texans, because they caused most of the problems in Alaska when I was a kid, and they listened to country music, so ..  It's a habit to insult it. Except for Johnny Cash. He's a different story altogether.  *grin*

So, anyway, I hope you didn't take that too bad. Paul told me you like country music after I wrote that.  If I had known .. yes, I would have written it anyway, but maybe a wee bit different.

Sorry.

Hope you've been having a lovely time of it, otherwise.
Arletta