Lars – Part 3
And Lars is uninhibited by the traditional depressions and uncertainties of an Englishman, all too aware of the fact that there is only one thing on his mind, because for Lars there is only this night, and he will count on disarming with his foreignness.
So Lars was Steppenwolf – seeking a bride for the night - and Lisa was chosen, and Lars knew what he was going to do.
This is all because the Germans are fascinated by loutish English behaviour, however much they ridicule the Arctic Monkeys. There’s an openness to sexual negotiation in England that is absent in Germany. In fact, Anglofritz is planning to open a small private school for German girls, in which they are taught how to respond correctly to various light to heavy samples of verbal flirtation.
“What’s your sign?”
“Horoscopes are the frivolous past-time of the weak-minded. I just want to make it clear that such pseudo-papism is nigh on idiocy to me.”
“No, no, no … listen … Eva, you try.”
In England, though, it’s not really any easier, because English are apparently on an unstoppable sexual offensive, and chat-up lines are like drowning sailors, swallowed in a sea of apathy and possibility. As always, the Monkeys have the last word:
And she won’t be surprised and she won’t be shocked
When she’s pressed the star after she’s pressed unlock
And there’s verse and chapter sat in her inbox
And all that it says is that you’ve drank a lot
You should bear that in mind tonight
You can pour your heart out but her reasoning will block
owt you send her after nine o clock.
Comments
Um...yeah, maybe there's some non-diegetic Arctic Monkeys music playing in there, but I think you really mean that in this part of your story, Lars and Lisa fly back to Germany, open up the Anglofritz School of Conversational English and Applied Flirtation, and make a roaring success of it. After registration (so that prospective students can be properly vetted), for the school's inaugural class we see a dark auditorium filled with aspiring young and libertine conversational debutants, giggling, anticipating, perhaps pigtailed with short skirts and high boots. The screen at the front of the room illuminates: it is Lars and Lisa in a didactic documentary that they must have made in that gray northern English neighborhood their first night together. We see the couple in a heated, intimate dialogue in a corner of their smokeless English bar. They leave but it's raining, and at Lars' clever suggestion, they enter a wonderfully English red telephone booth, close the door, but not for a phone call, no, no, for moments later, against the window panes from within we see Lisa's smooth, perfect English buttocks pressed, she's raised up by sturdy Lars who holds her as a lusty steel-armed Hafen Hamburg crane might hoist up a delicate crate from the deep, tight, wet hold of a voluptuous White Star liner. Just so, Lars' lips attend ardently to Lisa's neck, as she blindly pulls up his jacket and pulls his shirt down and off, the buttons popping free. Of course, the new academy's minxome pupils are orgastically amused by the informative film, seated so closely, they exchange winks and caresses and in pairs and other groupings they begin to engage in such flirtatious, English-styled conversations of their own.
Sam; March 11, 2006 7:30 PM
I've sent a lot of texts to girls whilst drunk, usually for predictably pathetic reasons. Sent one about ten minutes before reading your excellent as always post Ben. Another blurred evening ahead of me but I'm happy.
cheesepie; March 11, 2006 11:59 PM