The translator

Once again into the breach Horatio, that little voice in me shouts as I approach.

Not much baggage, cute young, no signs of children.

The question, that question has plagued, poets engineers, warriors, all men thru-out the ages. You can convince a group of 30 people to buy a million dollars worth of hardware, yet asking for a date leaves you tongue-tied and stammering. What to say, how to say it. What starts out as, you are the most beautiful woman in the world, I find you attractive exotic, youthful, and interesting. Ends up as,

Would you like to go out on a date?

Can I buy you a cup of coffee?

Haven’t I seen you somewhere before.

Sometimes its more like, I would really like to see your socks around my shoulders, hey how does a night of hot monkey loving sound to you, and wow I really want to masturbate with your body. Ends up as.

Hey, you have a really pretty smile.

Wow that’s a nice looking dress.

Haven’t I seen you somewhere before.

But these wonderfully funny foibles would be moot if I had any kind of social graces, or reasonable exposure to the opposite sex.

If that what this poem were really about then I would stop here. But what happens afterwards is what really worth writing about.

Here and there, sometimes yet very rarely, you get the honest, self-respecting, “ I'm not interested”, or they are really in a real relationship.

The rest of the answers I have studied and, researched and come to a conclusion. Here are the translations I have gleaned from this human venture.

The response “ I am working on myself right now, and I am trying to stay out of a relationship” translates to.

I am going to pull the most half-baked simian with a pulse, who thinks that a relationship is a marathon mind fuck, and proceed to date him”.

The response, “ I'm sorry but I'm kind of dating someone right now”, translates to. “ I am going to serially fuck every half breathing walking testosterone gland that looks cool and thinks he knows everything”

The response, “ why don’t you give me your number and ill call you sometime”, translates to. “ I don’t want to date you, but I have no self respect so I will resort to doing the least invasive thing to get you out of my space”, or “ I'm not interested right now but as soon as I run out morons, who like to use me for masturbation, ill give you a call”.

Then there are the simple body language translations, simple avoidance, and ignoring tactics translate to, “ I am too busy playing my own game, feeding into other peoples games, and generally believing the bullshit that I am feeding other people, to allow you to come into my space”

Then the condescending please don’t annoy me look translates to, “ I am a vain self important, self possessed bitch, looking for another self possessed self important moron, so that we can proceed to mind fuck each other into oblivion”.

Oh the horror, that endless torture of the dating game, the older I get the more I wish that I had a Simpson’s baby translator only this one would work at night clubs. Or maybe an excuse detecting radar antenna, with the upgraded avoidance package.

In the end there will always be games, until there are none, and the race of the hairless apes will become extinct.