The Thing I Like About You

The thing I like about you is…

The thing I like about you is that you’re a knockout.

I mean–goddamn–you really are!

I mean, some girls think they’re knockouts but they’re really not.

There will always be something wrong with them and they’ll conveniently forget it because they want to believe that they’re genuine, authentic, absolute knockouts like you.

But in reality, if we’re gonna be cruelly honest about it, their eyes will be set too close to each other, or their hair will be thin and dry, or their teeth won’t be white enough. For me.

Unlike you.

You–you are truly, fascinatingly, ridiculously a knockout.

And as far as you being the real deal in knockouts, I always find myself lying on the canvas, seeing stars. Down and out.

Whenever I see a glimpse of your shiny, soft hair,

Or your unearthly fair skin,

Or those killer legs,

And all the parts I won’t dare mention to keep this piece wholesome,

I feel like you’re punching the air out of my lungs

And surgically stopping my right and left ventricles, killing all blood flow.

If I go into a coma, I’m sure I’ll only be dreaming about you.

And then you’ll knock me out again in that dream,

Putting me in a coma,

Where I’ll be dreaming about you again.

It’s a vicious cycle. The inception of an obsession?

Nah, I’m not really obsessed with you, lady.

Not yet, anyway.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t really, really, really, really, really



Like you.


‘Cause the truth is that I do.

The thing I like about you is…

The thing I like about you is that you’re so positive.

You are a plus sign. You are a plus in life. You’re something that adds up into an agreeable sum. Something that grows.

That blooms.

And scatters a dizzying, magical fragrance all over the sad humankind.

You are the sun.

You shine with such a strong light you make photosynthesis possible.

You are probably the reason there’s life on this planet

And organic compounds progressed into more complex mobile forms.

Why I evolved from an ape into a human with .99% ape gene.

Can’t be no organisms without the sun, according to scientists.

And like I said, you’re the sun. At least as far as I’m concerned.

Because you’re positive,

Which I adore since I’m a negative guy.

I’m the kind of guy who, when we’re all happy and smiling, I can’t help secretly thinking about starvation in North Korea. And roaches. Train bombs. Decapitation. Nicki Minaj.

So when you walk into the room or laugh out loud even when the matter at hand is not even that funny–but you do it anyway with the sincerity of a child,

With all your freshness and life,

Music and song,

Rose petals, bunny rabbits, violins, rainbows and evening walks under the moon in Paris,

I feel like,


Like 14% of my negativity is instantly washed away into the ocean of nothingness. And I can write cheesy lines like this and live with the guilt, smiling all the way to my little hole in the city.

14% is a big thing, you know?

That percentage of unburdened negative feelings allows me to work like a jolly, ol’ fella without minding the bloody capitalist exploitation I’m contributing to. I love it!

And I can sincerely joke around like the world isn’t ridiculous enough as it is. It’s amazing!

It works like a vial of love potion mixed with a couple of drops of water from the Fountain of Youth.

Sometimes I even catch myself thinking about hope. High school. Past loves without their dirty endings. And bunny rabbits as fluffy as clouds in the sky, too.

But what am I saying? Sorry I haven’t been too clear with the thing that I like about you.


See the thing I like about you is…

The thing I like about you is that you make me imagine.

Imagine what, exactly?

Oh, you know, all the things worth imagining.

Fairy tales, for example.

(I can’t really think of other things worth imagining. Can you? What–imagining I’m walking under the light of the moon in Paris alone? Doesn’t work. Depressing.

There should always be you in the picture, somewhere.

Put yourself in there and it will quickly turn into a fairy tale–and then we’re talking.)

So where was I?

Yeah, you make me imagine that you’re a princess. And I’m a fuckin’ knight. On a white fuckin’ horse. With a wavin’, white fuckin’ flag with a red blazin’ heart.


And I’m riding my horse over green meadows and fighting a fire-breathing dragon, which I’m slaying with my gemstone sword.

You’re at the top of this enchanted tower covered in thorny vines, singing a heavenly song that calms the howling demons of the seas and the skies. Preventing all-out chaos from happening in this made-up world.

But I’m climbing that thorny tower, blood trickling all over my face and golden hair (‘course I have golden hair in this story), climbing like my very life depended on it.

And then finally, I reach out, I touch your hand made of fairy silk and we live… and we live…

We live…

Sorry. I can’t even bring the tale to its proper conclusion. I’m THAT negative.

But in all seriousness,



I just imagine you falling for me on a Friday. And I gently tuck your hair behind your ear and we kiss.


So what? It’s my fantasy. I can do whatever what I want.

But what I can’t do–

What I really can’t do, and I admit it now, shaking my head in disbelief and utter frustration–

What I can’t do

Is just put my finger on

The thing I like about you.

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