Engineers' Love...
These are Love Letters from the Engineering department, taken from their newspaper, Golden Words.
I have never seen an angel spew heaven-milk into a goblet made of light, but I imagine it would be no more beautiful than that time you puked Sambuca into a gas station dumpster. Towards teh end I thought to myself, These are the dry heaves of the individual who will bear my children. I wish that we were birds so that you could regurgitate every supper into the eager mouths of our future children! No matter. I will find you a way. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your hair is so lovely that I just want to take a steak knife and cut out my spleen and sla it on a pawn shop counter and say, "Here. You take it. She's too beautiful." I bet I could get four, maybe five hundred bucks for it. I love you so much. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What if they built a thouse-storey skyscraper on top of Mount Everest? What if they launched hot air balloons from the roof, and those balloons traveled to the edge of space, and then astronauts jumped off of them with jetpacks? Would they reach even one tenth fo one percent of the way to how much I love you? No. I love you all the way to the moon, and I'm going to beat the crap out of Buzz Aldrin to prove it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had a huge lead going into Final Jeopardy. The category was "16th CEntury NAturalists" - my exact area of expertise. I wagered everything. I knew the answer was Leonhart Fuchs because I wrote my doctoral thesis on his work with exotic herbs. But what did I write as my answer? A heart containing our initials. I don't need to win the Tournament of Champions to be happy! I'm in love! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wrote you a symphony. Did you know that? I handed it to a symphony conductor and I told, "This is for the woman I love. It says everything I can't say with words. Will you play it for her tonight?" he examined my handwritten score and he said, "This isn't a symphony. It looks like all you did was draw pictures of giraffes all over these music sheets." Look, I'm no composer. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometimes I love you so hard that I forget to breathe, and my heart forgets to beat, and I lose control of my bowels. When I regain comsciousness in the hospital, I ask the nurse why her mouth and nose are covered. "The smell," she says, indicating my pile of soiled sheets in the laundry hamper. But hospital laundry, nurses, the tube down my throat - everything fades away when I picture your face. My bed feels wet and the heart monitor flashes red and I relaize I'm about to love you all over again. Do you see? Do you see what you do to me? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I see your face in everything: apple turnovers, fiery explosions, Doppler radar. CLocks, even. "Is it a quater to three?" a friend asked me. "No," I said wistfully, "It's a quater to LOVE." He wound up being late for his job interview. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My love for you is an enraged octopus that shoots hugs instead of ink. Let its eight arms embrace you! Let its suction cups keep us together forever! This is why you do not date Engineers. Under ANY circumstances.
I have never seen an angel spew heaven-milk into a goblet made of light, but I imagine it would be no more beautiful than that time you puked Sambuca into a gas station dumpster. Towards teh end I thought to myself, These are the dry heaves of the individual who will bear my children. I wish that we were birds so that you could regurgitate every supper into the eager mouths of our future children! No matter. I will find you a way. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your hair is so lovely that I just want to take a steak knife and cut out my spleen and sla it on a pawn shop counter and say, "Here. You take it. She's too beautiful." I bet I could get four, maybe five hundred bucks for it. I love you so much. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What if they built a thouse-storey skyscraper on top of Mount Everest? What if they launched hot air balloons from the roof, and those balloons traveled to the edge of space, and then astronauts jumped off of them with jetpacks? Would they reach even one tenth fo one percent of the way to how much I love you? No. I love you all the way to the moon, and I'm going to beat the crap out of Buzz Aldrin to prove it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I had a huge lead going into Final Jeopardy. The category was "16th CEntury NAturalists" - my exact area of expertise. I wagered everything. I knew the answer was Leonhart Fuchs because I wrote my doctoral thesis on his work with exotic herbs. But what did I write as my answer? A heart containing our initials. I don't need to win the Tournament of Champions to be happy! I'm in love! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wrote you a symphony. Did you know that? I handed it to a symphony conductor and I told, "This is for the woman I love. It says everything I can't say with words. Will you play it for her tonight?" he examined my handwritten score and he said, "This isn't a symphony. It looks like all you did was draw pictures of giraffes all over these music sheets." Look, I'm no composer. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometimes I love you so hard that I forget to breathe, and my heart forgets to beat, and I lose control of my bowels. When I regain comsciousness in the hospital, I ask the nurse why her mouth and nose are covered. "The smell," she says, indicating my pile of soiled sheets in the laundry hamper. But hospital laundry, nurses, the tube down my throat - everything fades away when I picture your face. My bed feels wet and the heart monitor flashes red and I relaize I'm about to love you all over again. Do you see? Do you see what you do to me? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I see your face in everything: apple turnovers, fiery explosions, Doppler radar. CLocks, even. "Is it a quater to three?" a friend asked me. "No," I said wistfully, "It's a quater to LOVE." He wound up being late for his job interview. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My love for you is an enraged octopus that shoots hugs instead of ink. Let its eight arms embrace you! Let its suction cups keep us together forever! This is why you do not date Engineers. Under ANY circumstances.