Jack Frost nipping at my nose
On taking a breather from the mountain of Coetzees, Polotan-Tuveras, Fuenteses, Lahiris, Joaquins, Gonzaleses, Pounds, Heideggers, I picked up a book with a florid green cover (from my ever-present stack of floridly-green-covered books) and thought:
"I want a 6-foot-2, 200-pound Norwegian slab of a bodyguard who had been a detonations expert before; a manicurist and hairdresser before that; an interior decorator before that; would schlep a little black kitten called Lucifer around; and watch One Tree Hill with me while we devour a tub of vanilla ice cream.
And his name shall be Sven, denied a part in Baywatch for having the compulsion to look lovingly into the camera ever so often, denied a part in an Off-Broadway musical about homosexual loving for being too masculine. Loveable, Self-Esteem-Issues-Plagued Sven."
'Tis all.
"I want a 6-foot-2, 200-pound Norwegian slab of a bodyguard who had been a detonations expert before; a manicurist and hairdresser before that; an interior decorator before that; would schlep a little black kitten called Lucifer around; and watch One Tree Hill with me while we devour a tub of vanilla ice cream.
And his name shall be Sven, denied a part in Baywatch for having the compulsion to look lovingly into the camera ever so often, denied a part in an Off-Broadway musical about homosexual loving for being too masculine. Loveable, Self-Esteem-Issues-Plagued Sven."
'Tis all.
posted by Sasha Martinez at
1:01:00 PM
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