The Stalker Bench

Dearest Stalker-Like Patron of the Park, 

                I understand that my ninja t-shirt and pink flower pajama pants are a real turn-on, but averting your obtrusive eyes and pretending I don’t exist for a minute would be greatly appreciated whilst I eagerly await the arrival of a certain puppy’s early morning dump.  Perhaps the sun’s reflection upon my grease-laden hair is too much to resist, in which case I sympathize with your inability to control yourself.  Either way, this whole awkward stare-off could have been avoided if we had both just pretended that this fence separating my backyard from your spot in the public park was made of bricks.  Or Adamantium.  Because that would be bad-ass.

Sincerely,
Too-Hot-For-Privacy

Since the dawn of time, there has existed a mythical land just beyond the confines of my humble backyard.  It was a place of magic, mystery, and beauty; filled with grand tournaments between cleat-laden midgets, jogging warriors fighting to reclaim their youth and all that’s in between.  One day, the Law of the Land enacted a decree stating that three royal benches would be erected around the land to guard against their enemies and stand as a monument to their greatness.  One of these benches was erected directly facing the territory of the Greatest Enemy of All.

A.K.A my freaking backyard.

This bench has now come to be known as The Stalker Bench.

Extremely well made map of my predicament.

Extremely well made map of my predicament.

At first my family was in denial.  There’s no way the city would put a bench directly facing our house; there had to be a mistake.  But as time went on, it became evident that the putrid-green bench was there to stay.  And with it came a host of awkward stare-offs and parties I was never invited to.

Take this morning for instance.  As I stood in all my pajama-wearing unshowered glory waiting for my two dogs to evacuate their bowels, a young man sat upon the Stalker Bench.  And stared.  Just stared.  In defense I ignored him, then eventually conceded to a battle of glaring.  Usually at this point people will awkwardly look away or leave the bench altogether, but this man aptly deserved the title of Stalker bestowed upon him by the bench.  His staring abilities were the stuff of legends.  It wasn’t until my hulkish father appeared that the young man awkwardly coughed and looked away, and even then he would steal occasional glances.  I get it, I’m irresistible in ninja t-shirts; but please exercise some self-restraint.

However, self-control is not something that happens very often around the Stalker Bench.  If I were asked how many times I have been witness to sexual acts, the Stalker Bench would greatly skew the results and I would probably land in jail.  First base, second base, third base, thirteenth base…One time a couple went All The Way and I almost got my confetti cannon out and threw them a celebration, but it was over before I could even get the party hats out.  Drinking, smoking, partying, dancing, fist fights, sleeping, choking on apples, contacting the spirit world and the likes are also common occurrences.  It’s amazing just what people will do on a public bench.  And its even more amazing how much I’m never invited to these functions, no matter how big I make my puppy eyes.

Thus I am forced to out-stalk the stalkers and scare them away from the bench with intense stares and crazy body convulsions.  If only they knew they could avoid this whole ordeal by inviting me to their seances.

Or just leaving.

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4 thoughts on “The Stalker Bench

  1. Peter Monaco

    If greasy hair and dumping dogs are enjoyable, you could try a different tactic. Put out some popcorn, start charging, and if they refuse, scream “ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!?”

    Reply

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