“Botendaddy. I am Canadian. Japanese ancestry, but I am Canadian. I am all B.C. I love the Queen. Five years ago I served in the RCAF Reserve in Afghanistan.”
We ran along the great Southern Pennsylvania Trail near the tri-state border.
“What in the hell are you talking about Heroku? By the way your body is incredible. Your 4$$ is pumped-up as they say in the ghettoe.”
We were running hard, but our first mile time was terrible.
“The point is this. It is a known fact that in America, when an ugly man approaches a woman, no matter how appropriate and polite he is, it is considered a form of unwanted sexual assault. If an attractive man approaches the same woman in the same circumstances, it is a welcome event. Whereas in Canada, especially Quebec, as long as a man is tall and thin and he speaks le français, the advances are welcome even from a disgusting, hideous, creepy, skin-crawling freak like yourself.”
It was all uphill to the old train tunnel. We barely broke 20 minutes for the two mile, but we decided to try to break 30 for the three mile on the downhill.
“I see what you mean. Here, whenever I say hello to a woman, immediately they mace me in the eyes, shriek, blow a whistle and get a restraining order and of course utter the word ‘creep’ with simmering contempt. When I’m in Montréal, they stop jogging à causer et bavarder avec moi and show off their tasty, lithe bod’.
Our pace was solid. Under 25 minutes at the 2.5 mile mark.
“What’s inexplicable though is the women of the writer’s workshop. They love you. You are unquestionably and without a doubt, the most ugly, hideous, creepy, serial-killer-horror-movie, Frankenstein, freakish male I have ever seen. You are the nightmare scenario of utter feminine failure. A woman would chew off her own arm to escape you. You are the grim reaper of a woman’s hopes and aspirations. I want to kill you with fire so the macabre horror can end. Although your tanned, lean body is amazing and your hair is perfect. Your psychotic other-worldly pure green eyes are erotic. And your massive freakish enormitude. It is unparalleled.”
Our three mile time was Ok, barely under 30 minutes.
“A woman loved me once, you know, you stupid, childish, vapid, idiotic, insolent Northwestern-Pacific-anime-furry-cosplay twat.”
I was getting tired, but I wanted a good four mile time, so we picked up the pace.
“OK, it breaks down like this O’ wise, ancient one. It gets lonely at times. I witnessed extreme horror during the war. I was a medic. Things I can never unsee. Limbs shredded, children eviscerated, brains pouring out of destroyed skulls. Sometimes when I try to go to sleep, I see it over and over again on continuous loop. I don’t dare go to hospital or I risk being thrown out of the Forces as a psych case. I finished my biology degree when I got back, but I decided not to go to medical school. I want to be a writer but I’m paralyzed. I can’t write. When attractive men hit on me, it offends me, like they are selecting me somehow. I like you, precisely because you almost never hit on me and you are a disgusting, mis-shapen, elephant-man, Quasimodo, awkward, repulsive, creepy loser. I trust you implicitly. You were in the war. You understand me.”
We hit 3.5 miles in good time but the route turned uphill across the new footbridge.
“I’m glad that you feel that you can confide in me. I think you are a very capable, bright young woman. I apologize for calling you a stupid, vapid, idiotic twat. But I have to wonder, now that it’s blustery cold, do you think running in a sweatsuit slows us down?”
We broke 42 minutes for the four mile run. Reproducing the 37 minute four miles from Youngstown would not be an easy task.
“I took the inter-urban bus to get down here. I need a lift, Botendaddy. I need to go to your luxurious City-view Penthouse tonight, where you will make love to me for hours. I yearn for you tragically. I love you against all reason.”
Peace be the Botendaddy