MY ROOMMATE LOVES ME

It was nearly 10pm, and I was putting on my shoes to go find a cup of coffee downtown and enjoy a quiet read when I heard my roommate ask the question I'd been waiting for months to hear: "Which do you think would win, a grizzly bear or an alligator with a chainsaw strapped to its tail?"

     "Is the chainsaw running?" I enquire.
     "Yes, it's locked on. Oh, and they're in a 'Thunderdome' situation."
     "Interesting," I muse, contemplating the strengths and weaknesses of each combatant.

I hearkened back to a night I spent with a beautiful young woman long enough, but not so long ago. In the gentle glow of the naked moonlight I whispered to the graceful shape nestled beside me, "Darling?"
     "Yes, dear?"
     "Do you think a shark could beat a dolphin if the dolphin had nunchucks strapped to it's tail?" I ask.
     "R, that is by far the dumbest and most asinine thing you've ever asked me," her silken voice assuming a disappointed tone.
     "Oh," I whisper.
She paused to take a breath and sweep an errant lock of hair behind my ear with delicate fingers.
     "Nunchucks wouldn't work underwater, and the shark would have the advantage. Shark every time. Duh."

I've never fully understood our obsession with such things. Hero worship (for surely the Japanese have a different view of heroes. Mothra?)? A need to satisfy our competitive tendencies? Perhaps it is simply a matter of intellectual exercise; a means to assuage the feuding halves of our restless brains.

But all I know is that I'll never forget the time my roommate looked me square in the eyes and said, "Ohhhhh, now I see, I thought you meant 'like how the Irish used their skills with farm tools during the great Leprechaun Holocaust'. Now I get what you're saying."