JO: Tall, check. Cute enough, check. Clothes, pass. Brains ... nada.
Sometimes you have to be a bit cruel -- tell a boy to swim away -- when you realize the boy just can't play. Sometimes you gotta just rip the hook out of their mouths and huck them into deeper waters.
Jo was a cute, but seriously Frankenstien-mute, Seattle boy who tagged along with the girls like a wounded puppy -- it was so classic, it wasn't even classic. I got in over my head by towing the line (I was told later that I was being a cruel byatch for not telling him to go away sooner). So, to make up for my error, the unisex posse of byatches tried to teach him how to pick me up. It failed.
One of the boy byatches in our group realized that this fish wasn't going to leave my line, so he helped me reel him in so that I could cut the line: he tried to give Jo chances to make an impression -- he even told him outright that he was trying to help him work it. But he failed. Seriously, it was like pulling teeth out of a mangled dashboard. He just sort of whirled around all drunk like while his feet grew roots. No amount of pitchers could help us, or this boy.
As the boy byatch pointed out: "In Seattle, all the cute people are indoors".
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