Ed and the Hot Gothic Norwegian

“The clerk, that Gothic Norwegian? She wants me,” Ed says. He plops down in my guest chair.

“No, she doesn’t.” Bored. Ed talks about women all day. In his mental hierarchy of Interesting Shit to Talk About, females top the list.

“I think she’s trying to court me,” he continues, ignoring me. “Yesterday, for no reason at all, she came by my cubicle, and she touched my arm. That’s a big signal for women, just like when they throw their hair? And she was smiling. That’s her way of saying, ‘impregnate me, I want your seed.’ Women do this kind of thing all the time. You need to read the signs.”

“She’s just being friendly. She’s new here,” I say.

“Oh yeah? Check this out,” Ed says. “She just brought me cookies from downstairs. From the deli. These cost money! She got them just for me!” He holds up the little paper bag like a trophy.

Suddenly, I’m interested. “What kind of cookies?” My stomach jumps.

“Macadamia nuts. Don’t you see? She’s making me an offering. This is the third signal she’s given me now. She’s offering her soft cookies to me, the eligible male. It’s a metaphor. She wants her sweet, moist cookies in my mouth. My mouth,” Ed says. “She wants my tongue all over them.” He chomps down on one of them, the crumbs spilling down his sweater. “Ohh…man, these taste so good…so soft, delicate…these, these...Norwegian cookies…” he trails off, chewing on it as he closes his eyes in ecstasy.

“Gimme one,” I say. The macadamia nuts look sort of like white chocolate. Ed hands me the bag, and I fish one out. And…they taste good. Very good. The nuts are soft, sort of, and they don’t actually seem nutty at all. I cram it all into my mouth, filling my cheeks with sweet, Norwegian sex offerings. What am I doing wrong? Why aren’t women bringing me cookies?

I think of our counterculture file clerk for a moment. “Have you ever slapped a woman around a bit?” I ask. I lift my hands and brush them clean, like Pontius Pilate.

“What for? You mean, during sex? Oh yeah, a few times. Some women, they actually ask for it. That’s just fucked up, man. You get this girl, with a tattoo on her back and her two kids are sleeping in the next room, and she says, ‘Pull my hair. Hit me. Come on, really do it. Spank me. Harder!’” Ed shakes his head. “What about those kids? That’s not where I am anymore though…maybe five years ago, I’d go along with that, but with kids in the next room?…I just can’t do it,” he says. He looks out the window. “The Norwegian would probably enjoy it too, I bet.”

“Have you ever defecated on somebody?” I ask. I want more cookie.

“No, I haven’t. I always wondered though, what that would be like. I think it would feel good. Germanic or something…you’d be just kind of squatting there, and it all comes out of you…you know, in a mound like a Dairy Queen cone, but all warm instead…what an intimate violation,” Ed says. His eyes drift away.

“I wonder if the Norwegian would let you,” I say.

“I’d aim for her face,” Ed says.