A while back I wrote a blog about worst pick up lines ever. Since then there have been more. I really don’t know how some people manage to get laid, or even get ahead in life.
I guess the trick is in how casually these lines are dropped, in the “hey, nice shoes, wanna shag?” sort of delivery. If you’re not listening properly, you might even miss it.
Unless you’ve been pulled over on the side of the road by a policeman in Central America. Then you listen carefully to the Latino man with the moustache, shiny badge and hand gun.
“Señorita, do you have any drugs in the car?”
- No officer, sir.
“Do you have any weapons in the car?”
- No officer, sir.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
Note the flawless execution. He even got me on a little roll of saying a wide blue-eyed "no." It was just like a porno, he was ugly and had aviators. The scene was set. But I giggled and shot out of there, tooting and waving.
I’m not really sure whether this next example was a pick up line or an assessment of whether to kill me or not, but it sure was inappropriate:
I am sitting in a taxi, being driven in silence through downtown Managua, capital of Nicaragua in Central America. I am looking out the window and thinking about a McDonald’s McFlurry ice cream with Oreo cookies. The driver eyes me up and down.
“So… what then… you’re about… 50?” says the driver.
“50 kilograms. You must weigh about 50 kilograms.”
- Ahhhhh no. I say. Closer to 60 kilograms…
The driver (Antonio) looks at my stomach and smiles “Nice” he says. I say “Thanks.”
Not sure whether to be flattered by his compliment of my slender figure or wonder whether my body would have been too heavy for him to easily dispose of.
Again, with the weight:
A Scottish woman approached a friend of mine in a Scottish pub. “You’re a little plump” she says. “But I like that better than the skinny boys. Because then at least I can be sure you don’t have Aids.” (Evidently, that was a problem at the time…?)
Good Samaritan that I am, I helped a lost looking Asian American tourist with directions in the middle of a busy city bus station. He thanked me then said:
“So what are you… ginger?”
- I’m sorry? (I started to blush, bringing out my ginger tones even further.)
“Your hair. It looks like it could be blond but then no… you seem like a ginger.”
- Oh. Well. Yes. I’m a ginger then… some people might say… uh… strawberry blonde… I murmured.
“It’s just that you don’t see too many gingers around.
- No. Um. No. I guess you don’t.
“I wonder what it would look like, he continued, if a ginger and an Asian had a baby.”
For a dude I’d known less than 5 minutes, he sure seemed ready to commit.
Funnily enough, I was actually able to pull a photo out on the spot and show him a photo of my baby half sister. Blue eyed Asian. Half Chinese, half Kiwi. Case closed.
Dirty sleaze ball didn’t see that one coming.
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