I Can be Creepy All by Myself

Being a creeper is an art form. More than learning from any book or any teacher, you have to learn to feel the creepiness of the situation, learn to sense the vibrations of the Universe and taste on the other person’s breath–in their sweat–the exact turn of phrase, the exact facial twitch, the exact expression of love that will make their skin crawl. When she calls home to her mommy because the creepy man fills her dreams…ahhh, that is my masterpiece.

Creeping people out gives me purpose. For example, I recently met a lovely lLama girl and sensed an opportunity. After bumping into her several times, talking for several hours, and a few more-than-friendly smiles from her, my creeper sense began blasting a rainbow aura across my vision. It was like the OverSoul was speaking to me, and I sensed a new work of art on the brink of creation. I asked her out, and she flipped. Talk about validation! The purpose of my existence as a creeper was fulfilled. A few days later, I tried again, just to see her eyes flit downward again in thinly-veiled shame. Delicious. This, dear reader, is art.

A friend of mine, we’ll call him “The Artist,” claims that the ultimate form of creepiness is to find yourself in a creepy situation, and then drag other people in with you. For instance: “I had this dream last night, and you were in it…” This works beautifully, because the more you mention them in context of your creepy situation, the more they visualize themselves as an unwilling participant in the creepiness. No matter how hard they try, they cannot escape the image of them burying themselves, alive, happily sharing a coffin with you. Once they start to wonder how that would feel, it’s all over. Brilliant technique, my friend. You are a true master.

The only problem, the one pitfall, is that you can’t creep out a girl who likes you. A year or two ago I met a girl, beautiful girl, and decided to ask her out.

But she said yes.

So I made flirty eyes at her.

She smiled shyly and flirted back.

Desperate to re-assert some form of control over my wayward canvass, I added her as a friend on facebook.

She accepted.

With nothing left to do, I went out with her, because even a creeper knows that you can’t cancel or bomb a date after you’ve agreed to it (unless you didn’t really want to go on the date, then you’re somehow, magically, okay). She tried to cuddle with me, and gosh darn it I liked it! The next time I asked her out, I couldn’t make myself pretend that the Universe was giving me creepy vibes.

I hate girls like this. We could almost call them counter-creepers. They are the Vandals who would desecrate Picasso and Van Gogh. How dare they flirt back or accept a date? Don’t they know that I’m trying to alter the aesthetic face of the human consciousness here?

After three dates she stopped answering my calls. I left anonymous notes on her car for a week, until her roommate called me up, screaming that I’d given the “poor girl” nightmares.

And I felt vindicated. In the end, the master always wins.