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Things are kinda lonely out here in these quarantine streets. But that won’t stop The Prompt staff from getting some. Katie Novotny, John Papageorgiou, and Zach Straus have rated and ranked colors of the rainbow, based on which ones they WOULD or WOULD NOT want to bone.

Katie Novotny’s List:

Colors I Do Not Want to F


I swear to God, stay the F away from me, Beige. You think we have things in common, but your claim to fame of being khaki’s cousin is not going to do the trick. You lurk in the back of Best Buy and at the front of bars, waiting for some poor lady to walk in so you can compliment her v-neck and smell her as she walks by. And then you’re going to blame her for not falling in love with you, even though you’re her perfect match because “you both like the Chicago Cubs.”  She gave you directions, she was not flirting with you!


Dude, you are so intense all the time, you need to chill out. I was drawn to you at first cause I loved your passion, but you’re always vibing at a very high frequency and frankly, it’s a turn off. Whenever you show up, you scream for attention, you demand every moment be yours. And you always, always, always have to go first. It’s super selfish, and honestly I’m starting to understand why purple hates you.


You get everything and everyone that you want. And as much as I really, really, really want to, I’ll be damned if I become another one of your conquests. You had your shot, Blonde. You had me vulnerable and desperate and so close, but you choked cause you couldn’t make the first move, and now we’ll never know how great that night could’ve been. I’m glad we let the tension build as we got to know each other better, because I discovered that you’re a terrible person, whose privilege has ruined any chance of you entering me.

Do Want to F


I just love being around you, Grey. You’re comfortable with who you are, and you remind me of home. We don’t have to get fancy to have a good time, and I get chills when you playfully touch my legs. I know we’ve been in this “Friends Without Benefits” zone, but I’d be lying if I didn’t think about it every once in a while. Everyone loves you, and I don’t care if most people think you’re gay when they first meet you. Lord knows I’ve had my fair share of lesbians hit on me. Would it be a good idea? Maybe. Would it also be a bad idea? Probably. We’ll just have to find out.


Uhhhh, you’re rich. You’re generous. You write stories from a female perspective that actually ring true. You’re like a fucking unicorn. Unlike Blonde, you don’t brag about your conquests and are way sneakier about how you bring so many ladies (and maybe gents?) to bed, which makes you inherently more fuckable. I’d be proud to be a notch on your private, diamond-encrusted bedpost. I know you don’t see a future with us, even though I do, and that’s what makes this pairing so magical. Our night will be absolutely perfect in my eyes, and totally average for you. But that’s all I’m looking for, really.


We’ve had a thing since high school, but the timing was never right. If you were taken, I was single. If I was single, you were taken. But we’ve kept in touch. Late night phone calls, postcards from all over the world. I was even at your wedding. And at your divorce party. Which was last night. You actually kissed me, but you were so drunk, and I had to push you away. “Not like this,” I whispered in your ear as my loins burned for you. I anticipate I’ll give you space, out of respect for your bitch of an ex-wife. And then we’ll have some falling out because we’re both too afraid to tell each other how we feel. And then you’ll tell the story of us to your daughter from your first marriage and she’ll be like, “You have to go get her!” and you’ll end up on my doorstep, talking to me through the speaker system, and I’ll run down and we’ll embrace and someone will write a movie about our love and it’ll be called Definitely, Maybe and  you will be played by Ryan Reynolds and I’ll be played by Isla Fisher and we’ll become millionaires and be happily ever after.

John Papageorgiou’s List:

Colors I Wouldn’t Fuck


Silver reminds me of cutting my finger on the edge of a tin can. Which gets me thinking of being maimed by a sex robots. Which, since I’m me, in all of my frugal glory, gets me thinking about getting maimed by discount sex robots. Because I wouldn’t be the guy spending $20,000 on the flawless simulacrum of Emily Ratajkowski: I’d be plunking down $45 on something that looks like a Shop Vac in a wig. And I guarantee you that thing would malfunction as we crossed into hour three of it fulfilling its prime directive. No, the image of me in the ER, ice pack on my groin, fireplug of a sex bot under my arm, with my manhood in its collection receptacle, is too vivid for me to ever look at silver and pop one.


It’s too reminiscent of Pikachu, and I have to keep that pure. Can I do that? Can I have one thing in this life that isn’t tainted by years of disappointment, addiction, underachievement, self-loathing, misery, and regret? Oh, I can, your majesty? Are you sure? Thank you! Thank you, titanic obelisk of beneficence! While I don’t have children of my own, I’ll make sure that any children I subsequently encounter in my remaining years will be taught by me to sing your praises each Hero’s Day, the holiday I’ll be humbly founding in your honor. Prick.


It makes me think of condoms, and before you crucify me for this one, I’m not saying people should skip wearing condoms because they’re uncomfortable. (I’m no longer a walking, talking episode of It’s Always Sunny.) In fact, as I hear tale after tale of people hanging out together because “they’ve all been quarantining and so it’s safe to do so,” I think back in horror to all the sexual partners I had where I thought condoms weren’t necessary because, well, if they had something, wouldn’t they say something?

What a dunce I was in my youth. For countless reasons, but especially that. And especially because I wasn’t exactly sleeping with a bunch of long-term girlfriends. No, the John Papageorgiou of 25-years-of-age liked his women like he likes his diners: quick, open late, and with the hopes that no one disgusting was inside them right before I got there. Now, in my late-30s, I thank God that I have a bright white N95 mask in my possession to slap upon my puffy, beardless face, even if those yellow elastic bands cut lines into it like garrote wire. Because people are petri dishes with social security numbers, and I don’t trust them to get my carry out order right much less not get me sick.

Colors I’d Fuck


Red is sexy. Red is the lipstick of a woman looking to get noticed. Remember being a boy in the late 80s (you 2000s kids know what I’m talking about), going to the book fair, and purchasing multiple 36” x 24” posters of bright red Ferraris and Lamborghinis, the only options for sale because the powers that be wanted you to channel your budding hormones toward aspirations of consumerism rather than allowing you to decorate your walls with mildly lusty posters of Cindy Crawford and Kathy Ireland? And you showed them by going home and just jerking off to the posters of the cars, which greased the skids for a lifelong sexual fetishization of the Transformers franchise? Yeah, you know what I’m talking about.


Pink is the color of femininity. Well, it was. Now, boys can like pink and girls can like blue. I don’t give a shit. Like whatever. Because anyone older than a toddler with a “favorite color” sounds like a simpleton, anyhow. Remember when you were that innocent, and you could be made happy by a piece of candy in your “favorite color?” When I was 5 years old, if you gave me a red lollipop, that was it: day made. Now, in my late 30s, I define happiness as the ability to make a living in improv comedy and halting the inexorable march outward of my paunch. Good luck with all of that, chief.

Pornhub Orange

I don’t know if this is an actual color, with swatches from Sherwin-Williams or whatever, but damn if I don’t have a conditioned response to the hue of orange used by those selfless angels over at Pornhub in their imaging. Which really isn’t a good thing, because you know what else can come in Pornhub Orange? School buses. Thank God my local school system’s buses sport a more yellow tinge, but I try my best to avoid the road as school lets out when driving long distance. There’s also a story about me meeting John Elway as he wore a Broncos jersey that neither of us would like to rehash.

Zach’s List:

Hello and welcome
to a game
where I list colors
I’d fuck by name.
Forgive me, please,
if what I say
makes your stomach
turn or sway,
my only goal
is to be true
in ranking hues
that I would screw.

I’ll start with those
I love most first,
and finish with what
I deem the worst,
presenting them
in groups of three,
these ROYGBIVs
that wanna get with me.

We begin with BLUE
which in my view
is the sexiest color.
I’d give it my goo.

Next on the scene
is stalwart GREEN
Forest, kelly, or grass?
They all chub my ween.

No sad third place,
BROWN’s also my taste
a deep, woody chestnut
I’d take on my face.

Dropping down to
third from bottom,
Halloween ORANGE,
the bastard of autumn.

In second to last,
I put YELLOW on blast,
both thanks to Coldplay
and the urine I’ve passed.

Which leaves us with WHITE,
AKA visible light.
To the worst of all colors,
I say “Karen, goodnight.”

The Prompt Staff

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