progressive insurance girl
I’m in love.
It hit me recently one morning upon waking up in a state of incapacitating nausea and metaphysical confusion. At first I thought I must be pregnant, but quickly realized that this was not likely since I’m a dude, besides which I always wear protection. For the rest of the day I felt unsettled and struggled to find my bearings (having lost them the night before when I got embarrassingly drunk and decided to dress up as Captain Queeg at a cocktail party that my analyst threw for his pet lemur Cornelius). Sprawled forlornly on my mattress and staring up at the cracks in my ceiling I suddenly understood what was causing my distress - l’amour!
You see, lately I’ve become obsessed with a famous TV celebrity, and I just can’t get her off my mind. Usually I’m not one to develop mad crushes on unattainable figures, preferring to set my sights on more achievable targets such as the blind, mentally unstable, and comatose, however, this major star is one hot tamale that I just don’t have the wherewithal to ignore - Flo the Progressive Insurance Girl.
There’s just something about the chewiness of her gestalt that sets my heart aflame. I want to read Sendak to her, bite her nose, and have her sell me unlimited motorcycle coverage. Of course, I don’t actually own a motorcycle, preferring the safety of my beloved tricycle but hell, why mess with the fantasy? I can’t quite express why I’ve fallen so hard for Flo. Perhaps it’s how she’s so exquisitely irritating, or maybe it’s all that damnable pep of hers.
Whatever the reason, I’ve fallen and fallen hard.
Realistically, I know that we can never be together. She’s a big time television star and I’m just a wormy little creep, yet I can’t help but hold out the slightest flicker of hope in my heart that one day we might meet and fall in love. Still, I understand our getting involved is mere fantasy.
If we did meet, however, I truly hope peanut butter would be involved.
Sigh… Flo is such a unique beauty. I so love her sexy banged hairdo and stylish headband keeping that semi-flaccid beehive of hers so immaculately in place. I adore her thick neck and divine countenance, perpetually fixed with an expression most closely resembling an over-caffeinated nun.
Mostly, I just love her…for her.
All the cavemen, geckos and piles of cash with googly eyeballs can’t hold a candle to my beloved Flo. As I watch her shuck her wares with such jaunty perfection, I just can’t help but wonder what she’d look like dressed up as a pirate. Still, I wonder that about most people. Oh woe is me! I’m destined to be alone and tormented by my unquenchable ardor. I’ve already sent her countless e-mails expressing my undying devotion, but it’s all to no avail - she never responds. I suppose she’s too busy being a fancy shmancy celebrity to waste her time answering silly fanboy letters from wormy little creeps like me.
I wonder who makes love to her late at night. I’ll bet it’s one of those cavemen. Those smarmy little bastards, they think they’re so hot with their protruding foreheads and fancy clothes. Hairy douchebags! I’m glad their television series bombed so spectacularly.
FLO!!!!
I’ve got to pull myself together; I’m seriously starting to lose it. It’s just not going to happen for us. I need to find another object of affection, someone more attainable. Hmmm…I wonder what Madge from those old Palmolive commercials looks like dressed up as a pirate, she’s gotta be like ninety by now, you know she’d probably be the grateful type!
I’m in love.
It hit me recently one morning upon waking up in a state of incapacitating nausea and metaphysical confusion. At first I thought I must be pregnant, but quickly realized that this was not likely since I’m a dude, besides which I always wear protection. For the rest of the day I felt unsettled and struggled to find my bearings (having lost them the night before when I got embarrassingly drunk and decided to dress up as Captain Queeg at a cocktail party that my analyst threw for his pet lemur Cornelius). Sprawled forlornly on my mattress and staring up at the cracks in my ceiling I suddenly understood what was causing my distress - l’amour!
You see, lately I’ve become obsessed with a famous TV celebrity, and I just can’t get her off my mind. Usually I’m not one to develop mad crushes on unattainable figures, preferring to set my sights on more achievable targets such as the blind, mentally unstable, and comatose, however, this major star is one hot tamale that I just don’t have the wherewithal to ignore - Flo the Progressive Insurance Girl.
There’s just something about the chewiness of her gestalt that sets my heart aflame. I want to read Sendak to her, bite her nose, and have her sell me unlimited motorcycle coverage. Of course, I don’t actually own a motorcycle, preferring the safety of my beloved tricycle but hell, why mess with the fantasy? I can’t quite express why I’ve fallen so hard for Flo. Perhaps it’s how she’s so exquisitely irritating, or maybe it’s all that damnable pep of hers.
Whatever the reason, I’ve fallen and fallen hard.
Realistically, I know that we can never be together. She’s a big time television star and I’m just a wormy little creep, yet I can’t help but hold out the slightest flicker of hope in my heart that one day we might meet and fall in love. Still, I understand our getting involved is mere fantasy.
If we did meet, however, I truly hope peanut butter would be involved.
Sigh… Flo is such a unique beauty. I so love her sexy banged hairdo and stylish headband keeping that semi-flaccid beehive of hers so immaculately in place. I adore her thick neck and divine countenance, perpetually fixed with an expression most closely resembling an over-caffeinated nun.
Mostly, I just love her…for her.
All the cavemen, geckos and piles of cash with googly eyeballs can’t hold a candle to my beloved Flo. As I watch her shuck her wares with such jaunty perfection, I just can’t help but wonder what she’d look like dressed up as a pirate. Still, I wonder that about most people. Oh woe is me! I’m destined to be alone and tormented by my unquenchable ardor. I’ve already sent her countless e-mails expressing my undying devotion, but it’s all to no avail - she never responds. I suppose she’s too busy being a fancy shmancy celebrity to waste her time answering silly fanboy letters from wormy little creeps like me.
I wonder who makes love to her late at night. I’ll bet it’s one of those cavemen. Those smarmy little bastards, they think they’re so hot with their protruding foreheads and fancy clothes. Hairy douchebags! I’m glad their television series bombed so spectacularly.
FLO!!!!
I’ve got to pull myself together; I’m seriously starting to lose it. It’s just not going to happen for us. I need to find another object of affection, someone more attainable. Hmmm…I wonder what Madge from those old Palmolive commercials looks like dressed up as a pirate, she’s gotta be like ninety by now, you know she’d probably be the grateful type!
