|WEEK IN CRAIG: THE ENTICING RED-HEAD PUBLIC AUCTION.|
|By Amy Blair||
I have decided to auction off my roommate to the highest bidder. There were a lot of posts about redheads this week that have made me realize that the little scarlet-tressed vixen might be worth more than I originally suspected. Besides, she's hardly a spring chicken anymore, and she ain't getting any younger. It's about time someone stepped up to the plate and married her off. Having known her for so long, I'm just the gal to do it
To anyone who knows my roommate, please don't tell her that I'm publicly putting her under the hammer. I'm fairly certain that she'll be pleased about it (who wouldn't be?) but I want this to be a surprise. It's not her birthday, and it's not Christmas. This is just a special little something that I'm doing for her to let her know that I care. And really -- what better way to say I Love You than by selling off her booty? A fine booty, I might add. And, as an added bonus, I can attest that the carpet matches the drapes!
I've got one condition though -- I won't sell my roommate off to just any brute who places a bid. All of these posts about redheads this week have made me realize that she's one high quality chimichanga. Plus, she says that the only men that ever approach her are carnies. You know -- circus people. The guys that operate the ferris wheel at the state fair. She's got this theory that it's the curse of redheads to be endlessly pursued by Dungeons and Dragons enthusiasts, dudes with ponytails and guys who purchased Poison's 2002 release Hollyweird. And, having lived with her since I was 18 years old, I can attest to the fact that her theory is indeed correct. Freaks like themselves some redheads. This crimson locked lady knows that fact all too well:
The truth about redheads:
Redheads attract crazy people. If you're not insane, you don't like them. End of story.
Having a lot of red hair, I know this all too well.
Now, I'm sure that all of the men out there who are married to or dating a redhead will be all up in arms to find out that they are indeed freaks. But come on guys, really, we all know what you are-a goddamned bunch of fruitcakes with a fetish for flaming thatch and a closeted obsession with Magic: The Gathering. You sit around playing EverQuest II all day while jacking off to Julianne Moore. I know it, you know it, let's just get it out in the open. Check out this post I'll bet 100 bucks that this guy regularly attends Renaissance festivals. Guaranteed. Who's with me?
re: redheads with freckles
What makes redheads so darn irresistible? You're all beautiful; goddesses! You need not do anything to work it for us; just do your thing. And keep smiling.
That's what makes redheads girls sexy.
To me, anyway.
Now, try to imagine substituting "blondes" or "brunettes" for "redheads" in the above post. It just doesn't work, right? Nobody in their right mind would say that ALL brunettes are beautiful goddesses. But, that's what makes men who are obsessed with redheads so darn special. If the chocha's red, the gamer's in love.
I, too, have to give public praise to redheads - m4w
To the lovely smoothness of you, your smooth pale skin and soft hair, your freckles around their nose. Sounds like you have gone underappreciated. Well, I love you. And not because of the "wildness of the redhead" stereotype, but the feel of my pale skin against yours, your Stand-Out-Ness, your Loveliness. You always take my breath away. Thank-you.
OK, "the feel of my pale skin against yours?" Eww, eww, and eww. For the record, all pasty-assed men who are inclined to say things like this may retract their bids now. I don't care how much you've got to offer. I'm just not selling her to someone who will only objectify her for some sick little fetish. Likewise, I'm not selling her to anyone who is into Dark Ages of Camelot. Or anyone who collects sci-fi comic books. Or anyone named Angus.
I know that there must be some normal, non-obsessed guy out there who wants to buy himself a sweet piece of redheaded ass. Right? I mean, the poor girl has suffered enough over the years. This post is a perfect example of the crap that my roommate has to go through everyday.
Cute redhead I walked across 14th Street with ~9:30 - m4w
I set foot outside my building and there you were, bright red hair, black shirt, tan pants, black flip flops, walking west on the other side of the street. "Well there she is," I think to myself, "wrong side, but it could be worse, she could be going east" so I put on the sunglasses and start walking towards Union Square, looking over at you once in a while, but I'm kind of ahead at this point so it's a little creepy because I have to do the whole over-the-shoulder thing and pretend like I saw my mom on the bus or some shit. But one time I look, and you're crossing over to my side, which sounds like good news at first, but then I'm like, "Well, if she was going to Union Square too," which I figured you were, "then why would she be crossing south?" So I figured you were gonna hang a left at 2nd Ave and game over. But you don't, you keep walking, behind me, across 2nd Ave just as we get the solid red hand on the box, which I was really worrying about - like when you're friend is following you in a car and you run a yellow light and lose them - but you made it across with me. A whole block of wondering whether you're still there follows, then I have the light to cross north, which I customarily do when I can. "Ah well," I think, "She probably went south after crossing 2nd Ave anyway" so I do the diagonal-crossing thing with light-time to spare and I'm standing on the NE corner at 3rd Ave. Look left. There you are, crossing *back over,* right towards me. Holy shit, I don't even know what to do, this could theoretically mean that it's not just me being a weirdo, playing mind games with myself. So I try to act cool and not fidget, just you know, look across the street or whatever, and you - you sweet girl, come to a stop, turn, and give me the green light to check you out! Half turned around and gazed southward down 3rd Ave, standing right in front of me, I couldn't have been in your field of vision. So I take just a couple of seconds, do some lip-biting, then the light turns, and we're off. Side by side, all the way to Union Square. I was a nervous wreck. You probably saw me doing that stupid shit with my left hand. Right hand was covered, I had a bag over my right shoulder, left hand is hangin', I'm fronting on all sorts of like exercise routines and nail-maintenance business, I finally let it just hang as we approached that spot where the sidewalk was closed. I think our feet hit the pavement as one. The light changed for us to cross Irving. Then I got seriously bum rushed by this black lady and her kids, lost precious time, cursing under my breath. Caught up in time at least be right behind you on the escalator going down, followed you until you went to get on the downtown 4,5,6 and I kept walking to get the uptown Q,W.
Baby, you look good, smell good, walk good and play good. If you were feeling it too, you'll know who I am. What a great way to start the day, I feel like I had breakfast or something.
So, if you've never stalked a redhead and then posted about it on craigslist in some half-insane, rambling fashion, if you don't refer to yourself as "The Dark Son," and you've never catcalled a redhead with "Hey Red! Girl's got JUNK in the TRUNK!," then you might just be the man of my roommate's dreams.
One last test -- read this sentence. If it's Greek to you, happy bidding:
Twisted by the shadow curse and driven by their desperation to remain on the Material Plane, a cabal of shadar-kai wizards have bound the essence of the Plane of Shadow to the heart of an ancient forest.
Bidding starts at $5. She's going to love me for this.
Amy Blair is eager to be called horrible names on Craig's List. Bring it.