You’ve done it. You saved the world. Now, you’re standing in a giant crater, post-imminent apocalyptic wind is blowing hopefully. Somehow you managed to keep all of your teeth. And there she is: the Love Interest. Oh, you’ve been more than interested. You awkwardly fumble through every scenario where she accidentally touches your arm after the explosions from the Venomizer ship cannons knock her into you and you’re kind of hoping there were more explosions in a better volley so you can fall on top of her and then apologize profusely for, obviously, grazing her breasts in the process. There she is, champ, running towards you, wearing a very wind-irresistant dress that billows like your tongue is obtusely flopping around, trying to find the words to greet her.
What do you go for? A “Hi!”? No, too casual. A moment ago you eviscerated that asshole who was attempting to infect the minds of every person on the planet and make them his slaves to go conquer other planets and do the same thing to them. You’re not some 16-year-old punk with a little too much peach fuzz on his upper lip to call peach fuzz but not enough to call a mustache, anymore. You’re a hero, bruh. You’ve got the stylishly-tattered rags to prove it. That cut on your arm is gonna leave a bitchin-wicked scar you can brag about forever. And you can’t even say, “Hey.” Come on, man.
Wow. You did it. You actually waved with your injured arm, then winced and put it down so you could cover the cut with your other hand. Nice one, condom bag. You completely blocked your chances for a running hug and subsequent, delightfully-deserved, kiss. Now shit’s gonna get complicated.
Okay, she said your name, asked if you’re okay. You were doing good up to here. Then you asked her if she’s alright. You idiot. She had time to change into her wind-ripple dress. Of course she’s okay! But now you’re both just standing there, because your stupid question took her by surprise. Calm down. All you gotta do is lean in, cover her lips with your finger when she tries to say something, and then go in for the kiss. If you can cut down dozens of Venomizers with your Lightning Cutlass, you can get this kiss yourself, goddammit.
Wait a second. Don’t try and cover her lips before you at least… Okay, now she has Venomizer blood on one of her cheeks, because you didn’t wipe your hands before the cover-lips move. Yes, she turned away at the last moment. No, it’s really not that easy to wipe off. Yes, she now has a very unattractive, bright green smudge on her face. No, really, you should get some soap and water to get that cleaned before it stains. Yes, you can do that later. For shit’s sake, you better kiss her before that stain sets and ruins the helicopter-caught video you’re going to show you’re inevitable children about the time you started dating. She looks a bit disgusted, but the euphoria of still being alive after having your mind invaded by a mutant, interstellar species is still lingering on her lips.
Hold on, is Little Samba watching from the top of the crater? Who let the little kid off the ship? I mean, it’s safe now, but still. At least he’s waiting up there and doesn’t run down here and kill the kissy-face vibe, right? His miserably-murdered parents must have taught him well. And is that Fang up there with him? What is this, a low-budget kissy theater? Quickly, before the helicopters—
Great job, champ. Now the whole world is gonna see. It’s only a kiss, right? I mean, you guaranteed the future of all life on Earth no more than 5 minutes ago, bruh. You’re gonna get your kiss. Look at her: standing there, pretty as everything you think you ever wanted in a girl but don’t actually know because you never touched one in reality since you’ve been so busy trying to save the world from imminent destruction that you don’t really have time to date so you just hung around with the only girl in speaking distance, meaning you and Fang had a not-so-secret constant contest for her as-of-yet undetermined love and then you somehow won by saving Fang’s life and looking really kickass with a bit of blood dripping down your eye as you stood on top of a mound of Elite-Venomizers’ bodies with your back to the rising sun and a triumphant smile on your face that made her blush. Now, she’s still blushing, smelling like explosive dust and wet lilacs. Do you close your eyes? Do you go in slow? Does the 90%/10% rule apply here? If you kiss her, do you wait for tongue? If she slips the tongue in first, does your breath smell like Venomizer blood from inhaling that shit all night?
Uh oh. She took a step forward. If you let yourself be kissed, instead of going in yourself, does that make you a punk-ass? Will it look like you simply got lucky saving the world this time? Is this gonna lead to a bunch of terrible, feminoid enemies from your next nemesis, because you obviously choke when confronted with women? Dammit. Even Little Samba is thrusting his hips in the air and telling you to get on it, for fuck’s sake. Get in there, and kiss the Love Interest so everyone can applaud. And you can hide your erection. Wow. When did that happen? These tattered rags really don’t provide the coverage you need in this situation, huh? You haven’t even done anything, yet, and you’re bulging through what remains of your Trinity Armor. What a virgin! Well, at least the Love Interest Kiss after you’ve just saved the world from imminent destruction is the one boner they allow everyone. No sex scenes in children’s books, but they don’t often blue-ball you with a friend hug at the end, either. Yeah, even kids are allowed the-world-isn’t-going-to-end-in-the-next-five-minutes boner. That’s a relief.
Alright, champ. It’s time. Pucker those lips and hover them in front of her face with your eyes closed. Then pray that she doesn’t turn out to be the real mastermind behind the Venomizer’s malicious attack on the planet.