QUOTE(SpacemanSpiff @ Mar 28 2006, 12:51 AM) [snapback]51017[/snapback]
I'd say the same thing, only I know I would be too much of a pimply pussy to do anything about it.
At least now if I saw her somewhere I'd have the confidence and audacity to actually try to put it in her.
Not right away, of course....
I'm pretty sure I'll never be a secure enough person to have any sort of sexual contact with someone as hot as Scarlett Johanssen. The pressure would just be to great. The only way I could fuck someone like Scarlett is if I was positively guaranteed that they had absolutely no expectations (or even any hopes) of sexual self-satisfaction during the experience, but would still find the experience a worthwhile one. I have pored this over and come to the conclusion that this would only happen under two possible sets of circumstances:
1. If I had enough money to pay Scarlett for her services that not only would the self-sacrifice involved on her part be utterly negligible, but I wouldn't feel the slightest bit guilty for doing it. The amount of money I would be forking over for her body would be so immense that morality wouldn't even enter into it, the saintliness of my actions could not possibly be questionable. I estimate this amount to be somewhere around $60,000,000,000,000.00.
2. If I had just saved her entire home village from lava from a nearby volcano at great personal expense (at least one limb lost, probably some skin elsewhere), and she personally felt that the only way to properly thank me for my sacrifice would be waiting for me in the top bunk of my dorm room when I went to sleep one school night (preferably in the outfit pictured above).
Since I doubt I will ever have such a high dollar amount at my disposal and since Scarlett's home town probably doesn't border any volcanos, my chances of having sex with her are admittedly pretty slim.
However, having a girl like Scarlett in my tenth grade algebra class would have close to a 100% chance of positive consequences. She would dress casually, not calling overt attention to herself but making herself plenty noticable. Chances are she probably wouldn't raise her hand much in class, but when she was called on she'd always be paying enough attention to say something smart, and her soft but stately voice would be a welcome respite from my teacher's gravely, southern-inflected drawl. Considering that our last names are roughly half an alphabet apart, I most likely would've been placed far enough from her to be allowed short periods of staring without being noticed, but not so far that the view would be tainted or obstructed. We probably wouldn't have talked much, but we would've probably been put in the same group once or twice for working on assignment, and working with her would be pretty nice. Not to mention that my tenth grade algebra class was nothing to write home about. I could've used a distraction or two.

At a ten-year anniversary, Scarlett and I could fondly reminisce about the time Mr. Gaerig told Mike Nechemia to "take that gay thing off [his] head," or that time the substitute teacher watched helplessly as the class turned into a paper-throwing free-for-all. It'd be something.