Hello, he said.

Hi, she replied.

I hope I'm not interrupting.

No. I'm just sitting here.

I wanted to tell you that you're about the most beautiful woman I've seen in the last five years.

I have no response to that.

You're not expected to have one.

Why did you just tell me that?

Because I want to sleep with you and I've never been one to engage in typical bar banter.

Oh, you haven't, have you?

No.

So you just walk over here and tell me I'm the most beautiful woman you've met in five years and expect me to go home with you.

No. In fact, I'm expecting you not to go home with me. It very rarely happens.

This is the strangest pick-up I've ever been a witness to.

Well, I'm a pretty strange guy.

Buy me a drink.

Okay.

Thanks, she said.

You're welcome, he replied.

So convince me why I should go home with you.

I'm not going to convince you of anything. You'll either go home with me or not, based entirely on your own judgement.

What do you do?

What do I do?

What do you do.

Huh. I walk along the razor's edge between genius and idiocy. I drink a lot of soda. I eat coupons for breakfast and shit revolutionary jargon before going to bed at night.

I mean what do you do for a living?

Oh. I used to kill Russian spies before the Soviet Union collapsed.

And now?

Now I work for Starbucks.

Tough life.

Ah, it's a living.

And what do you do for Starbucks?

Corporate espionage. I plant stink bombs in the bathrooms of Caribou, sabotage annual reports...

Bombing raids over suburban Seattle?

Well, I could tell you about it but then I'd have to kill you.

Secret agent man.

I dance too close to the fire, baby. You know how it is.

And yet you drink Sam Adams.

I like to keep in touch with the common people. So what do you do?

What do I do?

What do you do.

I'm a professional writer of bumper stickers, t-shirts and plastic-mesh baseball caps.

Anything I've read before?

Bomb the Shiite out of Saddam?

Yeah?

That's mine.

Congratulations.

Ah, it's a living.

It pays well?

I made my first million when I was fifteen. "When the van's a-rocking don't come a- knocking."

Impressive.

I made my second million with Baby on Board. I don't need the money anymore. I just do it now for the sexual thrill of high-risk adventure.

You're the queen of retirement party gag gifts.

I also wrote the theme music for the Rikki Lake show.

Da-da-daa...da-da-da-da.

Yeah, that's it.

You go, girl.

Syndication will hire anyone, believe me. Why, I'm in a development deal with UPN as we speak.

Would you like to come home with me?

I haven't decided yet. Buy me another drink.

You buy me a drink, Ms. Twice-Over Millionaire.

Fair enough.

Thanks, he said.

You're welcome, she replied.

So what's a nice girl like you doing on a continent like this?

I am single-handedly embarking on a mission to lull the Western hemisphere into a docile state of chemical lobotomy.

And what is the instrument of your nefarious and evil plan?

Teletubbies.

Ah, so you're the infamous Dr. X the agency's been chasing for three years with no success.

And you've fallen right into my trap, Mr. Bond.

You know, I've always believed Teletubbies to be a good model for flirting in bars. Instead of the calculated vapid bullshit banter that lasts for hours...

Like us right now?

Exactly. Instead of that I could just walk up to a woman and say, "Laa-Laa! Hello! Big hug!"

See? My plan is working.

Uh-Oh!

Am I really the most beautiful woman you've met in five years?

Yes. I really meant that.

Who was the woman from five years ago?

My sister.

No, seriously.

My mom.

No, seriously.

Dr. Laura Schlessinger.

No, seriously.

Jewel.

No, seriously.

Seriously. Jewel.

Jewel the earnest folk-rock singer.

Yes.

Jewel the Alaskan earnest folk-rock singer slash poet.

Yes. I met her five years ago at this coffehouse where she was doing a show.

Did you sleep with her?

Yes.

Impressive.

It's not meant to be. You asked, I answered.

I slept with Jeremy Pivens.

Really.

A New Years party when we were undergraduates.

Why did you just tell me that?

An irrational fear that I'm losing this game somehow.

Would you like to come home with me?

I'll go home with you on one condition.

Neighborhood?

No.

Pets?

No.

Penis size?

No no no. Do you own a capuccino machine?

A what?

A capuccino machine. Do you own a capuccino machine. I only sleep with people who own a capuccino machine.

You seem to forget. I'm a corporate terrorist for Starbucks. Not only do I have an industrial capuccino machine in my apartment, but three underpaid teenagers to serve it to you.

Rock and roll.

Plus, as an added incentive, I also have videotapes of every Teletubbies episode ever made.

Uh-oh!

So what do you say?

I say if you don't like my driving call 1-800-EAT-SHIT.

Rock and roll.

Let's go, she said.

Okay, he replied.