Queering Engine

(written by Sarah:)

I submit, for your viewing pleasure, possibly the greatest product specification of recent memory:

Yes, that's right, an Advanced Queering Engine.

Looks like, of course, the illicit love-child of a telephone booth and an iPod. Slick. Chic. Minimalist. Titanium. There are probably blue LEDs involved. As you walk by, faint strains of music slide up under your skin and into the soles of your feet; you don't know what it is, but you walk just a little more musically after that. The AQE is the ultimate black box - we cannot fathom its inner workings, only observe.

Our test subject, let's call him Steve, sports dirty fingernails, a five o'clock shadow, and the unmistakable lingerings of his lunchtime beer. Throwing informed consent to the four winds, our testing committee chucks him inside. The flawless one-way glass doors seamlessly click shut. A rhythmic hum builds from inside the AQE; the testing crew is observed to swing their hips and shoulders ever so slightly in time. The hum appears to have the resonant frequency of hair, which dances into place in a gel-less miracle hold.

With a sharp intake of breath from the observers, Steve emerges. At first there is no perceptible difference. But the longer we stare, the more subtle details fall into place. Steve's wardrobe has not changed, but he wears it better. The lines are crisper and smoother, the creases fall just so. He exudes coordination. Whatever he wears is stylish by virtue of being worn by him. His hair, too, is mussed as always, but mussed with purpose, daring anyone to suggest the look is unintentional.

His bearing is straighter and his joints are looser; he walks gracefully, like a cat. He holds his hands out just slightly - not to flaunt, but enough that you may notice his fingernails are, in fact, dirt-free. The beer smell is still there, but it's musky, peppery now. Steve is a new man.

sigh So hot now, and more unattainable than ever. The women of the testing committee wander off for pity and coffee.