The Esurance Chick Vs. My Real Girlfriend

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Honey, I’ve been doing some thinking. Some real deep thinking about “us”, you know? And well, I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re a soul-sucking succubus with disproportionate nipples.

 So what I thought I’d do is illustrate how I feel by comparing you to an animated cartoon character that I have a crush on, in hopes of making you feel terrible and insecure. Kind of like the way you make me feel. Every. Damn. Day.

I know, I know, I’m like kindness dipped in caramel.  Alright, well, here’s how you stack up:

 Remember four months ago?  After Jackson’s swanky fete? A bottle of Bourdeaux, Andrew W. K blasting, road head on a snow covered street, and a curb that refused to yield to my fish-tailing vehicle? Yeah, well that uninspired blowie and your accidental gear shift to “neutral” ultimately raised my car insurance. Which is the exact opposite of what Erin Esurance does. This is the first reason why Erin Esurance is way more awesome than you.

Another point.The Esurance chick wears leather cat suits…a lot. I can’t even get you in a matching bra and panty set without first buying you something that starts with “Louis” and ends with “Vuitton”. Never mind a corset or my mom’s wedding dress. Which, honestly, isn’t that weird ya big prude.

Erin Esurance has got amazing acrobat-fu. She probably even knows a few sweet Trapeze tricks, as well. The most impressive gymnastic thing I’ve seen you do since we started dating is wear three inch heels. And between you and me…you suck at it. I’d feel better about putting Tiny Tim on stilts than making you walk a flight of stairs in stilettos.  Hmm, it looks like Erin Esurance wins another round. Decidedly.

Shall I go on? Oh I shall.

Erin Esurance knows I’ve had a thing for pink hair ever since Natalie Portman rocked a pepto-splashed wig in “Closer”. You, on the other hand, won’t even put on a Red Sox hat when we go to Fenway Park , so I’m sure stripper wigs are out of the question. For the record, I’d settle for a clown wig on my birthday, but I doubt you’d be willing to meet me in the middle on that. Thanks. For nothing.

Finally, Erin Esurance base jumps, hang glides, shoots guns so big Dirty Harry’s .44 looks like a cap gun, and rides motorcycles. Sometimes without a helmet.  While you, my sweet risk-averse angel, don’t even like diving boards. Shit, you don’t even like the deep end. I always found it strange that a girl your size didn’t float well.

Honey, it’s pretty damn clear. The Esurance chick is amazing. And you are not.