GEMINI Friday, January 4th, 2008

Duck!


***A note on this post. I first heard the term silent assassin while watching Dennis Miller's HBO show. I give credit to him for the term...although I have no idea whether or not he actually originated it***



Assassin

Just so you know, the only guys who DO brag are guys who get no action. This is a natural law. The guys who get laid all the time don’t say peep. It’s the other guys who see them in action that brag for them. It's like telling another guy's sex stories somehow means they’ll rub off on you; paying homage to a God or something. You need to stay in the good graces of the masters. They’re called silent assassins. It is an amazing phenomenon. All guys have at least one of them in their circle of friends.

You all go out. Then you will all see THE GIRL. Every bar has a THE GIRL on any given night.

Anyway, we all start commenting on THE GIRL.

“Oh man, look at that girl dude!”

“She looks like (insert celebrity) but cuter”

“I would lick every inch of that girl” (Some guy always says this, and it privately makes everyone else uncomfortable)

“Jesus.” (That’s my ol’ standby)

Everyone comments…except the assassin. He busies himself with something else, ie: getting drinks, sees someone he knows(assassins always know somebody, they’re mini celebrities), finds a table, etc…

Then we all sit down and sneak peeks at her when we can, trying not to be busted by our friends. For some reason, it becomes embarrassing to get caught looking after the initial look, even though we are all doing it. Same rule applies to masturbation.

The assassin looks…I think, but he never gets caught by ANYBODY…not even strangers. There is an assumption that he must.

Then the night wears on…and one guy is hitting on a girl and two other guys are arguing about sports or politics or some fact from an old college story that they can’t agree on. After a couple hours, right at the witching hour(which is the hook up hour, usually 1:45 to 2 hours after the bar/party really got good), when the girls are on that drink that can either send them home or continue a conversation, the assassin strikes. But the thing is, you don’t see it. You don’t see him approach her, you don’t even see him look at her. It is just…like magic…you look up, look around, and there he is…talking to her as if they had been friends for years.

To describe the emotion that wells up in the rest of us when the assassin hits is difficult. There is plenty of jealousy, yes, but there is an awe and a respect that surpasses that. It takes us beyond hate or resentment. It leads to this conversation:

“I can’t believe he is going to hook up with that girl, dude.”

“Yeah…he’s the man.”

“He’s the man alright.”

“Jesus.”