Improv, Week 11

Improv 1

“The Amputee’s Guide to Sex”

The Woman’s Guide to Finding a Mate After the Apocalypse

1. Don’t let yourself go.

With the elimination of essentially the entire human race, there should be plenty of nice clothes and make-up left lying around. Spoil yourself a little. Forget the zombies, fallout, virus, or whatever caused the end of mankind and take a warm bath with scented salts. Afterwards, slather on cosmetics and slip into some new high heels. Never mind the inconvenience, you’ll look stylish! Besides, what man wants to repopulate the earth with a girl in combat boots and a tank top?

2. Don’t move around too much.

If you’re wearing the high heels recommended earlier, this shouldn’t be much of a problem. You need to focus on resettling in your new post-apocalyptic landscape. Find a nice home or apartment that you think relatively safe and stock up on the necessities: designer clothes, expensive cosmetics, sunglasses, contraceptives—for when you meet Mr. Right!—and food, if you have the space. Then sit and wait for the man of your dreams to come waltzing in. Travelling around will make you seem independent and unapproachable by most men, but keeping calm and collected in your five star fortress will show that you are a prestigious lady simply awaiting her knight in shining armor.

3. Don’t overeat.

This one will most likely not be a problem, since food is generally scarce after the apocalypse. However, if you do have a reliable food source, be sure to not over indulge, or the post-apocalyptic male will pass you by—no one likes fatties! Also, if you can’t find food, then don’t worry about it. Not eating is the number one best way to keep your figure trim and attractive.

Improv 2

“I spike the air with nettles

mentioning your name.”

I spike the air with nettles

mentioning your name.

Microscopic shards tickle

my throat like fire ants.

My father once inhaled

fiberglass insulation,

pink spikes stuck

in his lungs.

Not the stuff in Newports

that cuts your lungs

and lets you get high quicker.

But the fiberglass in arrows

flying towards painted hay

bales, leaving splinters

in your fingers, itching

like rocks in your nails.

Like chalk coated hands.

Like your name.