Adam Levin - Hot Pink

The man took a step forward and hugged the painter. “What a man!” he told him. “What a decent man you are! What a true friend!”

And what a tale! That the painter would be willing to speak all those lies — Polyp a jerk ? The builder a con-man ? The painter, himself, plying his trade in a dishonorable manner ? Please! Oh please! Likely story! Get out!..That the painter would be willing to tell all those big lies — and to do so with such artfulness; the crack didn’t come back, right? the risk I’m putting myself at here, etc. — in order to convince the man to repaint the wall, or replace the wall… Clearly the man’s wife had not been as okay as she’d seemed with the attention the man continued to lavish on the crack, and, still worried that the gel could endanger their child (she was a dutiful mother), had, from desperation (a desperate need not only to try do everything in her power to protect their child, but to, at the same time, continue to be seen by the man as nothing less than the loving, faithful, and above all supportive wife she and he the both [the man and his wife] knew that she was), called up the painter, prior to the baptism, and concocted, or asked him (the painter) to concoct, this crazy story of tainted paint and crumbling walls in a last-ditch effort to rid the home of the gel and the crack from which it oozed, and, clearly, the painter had agreed to tell the man the made-up story in order to ease the strain he (the painter) imagined the crack might be putting on his good friend’s (the man’s) marriage.

Not even for a second had the man believed the painter, though. He knew better than that.

He squeezed the painter tighter.

“I’m glad you’re not angry,” the painter whispered.

“Life is so good,” the man whispered back.

Vet Prospective Jennys

To play The Guy , first you need a Jenny.

Get a girl. Not a child. A mid-to-late-adolescent girl you can loom over. Make sure she looks slutty and abused, too. Bangs, spray-cast to the sky with something shiny. Bangles and bracelets, enough to make noise when she scratches herself. Lots of eye shadow, some glitter in it. A low threshold for startling, paired with a strong tendency to wince when startled. Slam the car door and see. Lip gloss with a powerful fruit scent. If lipstick, then the kind that comes off in flakes. A T-shirt with a violent graphic, tied in a knot at the bottom, its crew collar scissored to create flaps of mock V-neck so that, when she bends forward, the flaps open and you can see the tops of her breasts. Kind of fat is okay, even preferable, but avoid morbid obesity like you would the AIDS. It draws too much attention. The buffalo hump is a no-go. So is a stomach that smiles in more than three places when she sits.

Which brings us to midriff. If she’s sporting midriff, make sure the midriff is either too flabby or too sucked-in-looking. If her midriff is good, have her keep it covered. Unless she has an ugly face.

Shorts are actually better than a miniskirt. She should look like the kind of slutty-looking girl who says that girls in miniskirts look slutty. Before teaching her the activities she will synthesize (see subseq.), stand her before a full-length mirror for an hour and have her repeat the following while she looks deep into her own eyes: “Remember that girl in the miniskirt? What a slut.” And if she’s kind of fat, have her also repeat: “That one girl was such a fat-ass it sickened me. It sickened me.” The repetition of these words will eventually move her.

If she’s wearing jeans: black or stonewashed. Never blue. She should be a girl who uses her jeans to assert her individuality, a girl who refers to herself as “pretty unique.” I think how tight goes without saying, but just in case: tight. If not jeans, then spandex. Never sweatpants. Sweatpants send the wrong message.

This girl you’ve gotten: the more she looks like she might be your sister, the better. But do not worry this point too hard. You would be surprised to discover how many girls can pass for your sister.

What She Needs to Learn and How to Teach Her

Teach the girl how to hold a strip of her hair to her lips as if to kiss it or fake a mustache and to periodically chew and suck on the ends of the strip. Teach her how to tilt her head forward so that whatever’s in front of her gets looked at from the tops of her eyes. Teach her also how to bob her head from side to side in a slow, even manner that bespeaks an inner state of intense deliberation.

For a girl whose startle-threshold is especially low, mastery of the side-to-side head-bob can, at times, be difficult. Be patient. She is starting from a place of neurological disadvantage. Jerkiness of the neck is to be expected. Offer her encouragement in whispers. Stand behind her, your hands on her shoulders, lightly massaging them. Tell her she is the best you’ve ever seen. Tell her she can do it. Encourage the use of a metronome. Speak figuratively to her. Talk of challenge. Of rising up. Talk of rising up to meet challenge. When necessary, use metaphors with bird and cage components. If frustrated with her for taking too long, get a grip on yourself. Mix your metaphors for sagacity. Know the truth. The truth is that, unlike the side-to-side head-bob, which, like the waltz or the cha-cha, can be learned by anyone, a low startle-threshold is like a pretty face: a girl either has one or she doesn’t. Count yourself lucky that your girl does, that her childhood was the kind that gets etched all over the twitch-muscles. Applaud yourself for the choice you’ve made. Other girls may be faster head-bob studies, but you can bet they don’t wince like yours.

After she has mastered each of the activities separately, it’s time for her to put them together, to learn to kiss-chew the hair-strip tips while bobbing her forwardly inclined head from side to side in a slow, even manner. How will you know when she has mastered the activity-synthesis? You will ask yourself: Is she communicating cautious determination? If the answer is no, then she must continue to practice. If the answer is yes, then it is time to walk her.

Walk toward each other. Have her look at you while you walk toward each other. Begin at a distance of no fewer than thirty paces. With each gap-closing step, your sense that she is cautiously determined about something having to do with you should increase.

After ten successful, consecutive walking trials, she is Jenny. You will call her Jenny and she will respond to Jenny. You will maintain your given name until your Steveness/Rickness is determined by Jenny at the moment of truth.

The Right Friend

Now you must choose the right friend. Who the right friend is depends exclusively on what you look like. Ask yourself: Do I have the face of a kind stranger? Do I have the look of the jackal? The eye of the tiger? Am I a funny-looking person or a serious-looking person? Am I wide or narrow? Am I a handsome devil? A sort of pretty boy? Am I blond? Does my posture suggest a threat? Does my facial hair? Am I plagued by the horse-face? The wall-eye? The lonely eyebrow? The liver-lips? The no-lips? Do I wear boots in the winter or shoes? Am I bespectacled? Is my musculature chiseled-looking? Do I have ass? The right friend will be the one who has the least in common with you physically. The only caveat here is height. Like you, the right friend must be taller than Jenny.

Find Out Who You Are

Once you have chosen the right friend, introduce him to Jenny. Bring him to her house. Spend time doing something nonsexual with one another, but in relative proximity. Be kind to one another. Form social bonds. Help generate a sheltering ambience. Enjoy yourselves.