After 16 months of winter, Lurkville is finally starting to show signs of spring. The weather has gotten warm enough that people are dressing immodestly, exposing shins and elbows. Occasionally one glimpses kneecaps.
These wanton displays of flesh might not be so bad if certain Lurkville residents were not so attractive. From time to time I get into trouble because of this. I will be minding my own business cycling down the road when I glimpse some fellow sporting shapely calves and a salt-and-pepper beard. Or worse, somebody who has carelessly left the top button of his shirt undone, exposing a tuft of magnificant chest hair for all to see. Such spectacles invoke impure thoughts and lecherous glances, which in turn makes cycling downright dangerous. Are these people trying to get me into an accident?
As if that is not bad enough, the sunshine and tree pollen are clearly interfering with my hormonal balances. From time to time I find myself repressing the urge to assault pulchritudious pedestrians with all kinds of objectifying and socially inappropriate greetings: “Hey gorgeous!”, “You are awfully pretty!”, etc. Thus far I have held these urges at bay, but this is a dangerous and possible untenable situation. Some people believe that beautiful people have it easy in this world, but I imagine that being assailed by catcalls gets really tiring really quickly. The last thing I want to do is add to the barrage.
Something ought to be done. I propose that all the beautiful people be forced to wear burqas so that I am not tempted by impure thoughts. Sure: one might argue that I am responsible for keeping my own lustful impulses in check, but that is silly. It is certainly more just and fair if everybody else in the world compensates for my moral failings, sweltering under uncomfortable swathes of cloth, barely able to see out of their eye-meshes, solely to ensure I am not exposed to inappropriate visual stimulation. Alas, I expect this sensible proposal is doomed. The sunscreen-industrial complex would never allow it.