God I Hope They're Serving That Ham * * * The other day, whilst engaging in a facinating conversation with a friendly hobo named Gus, I came to the realization that there are two stumbling blocks in my life that are really holding me back from happiness. The first is that there is simply no good way to get blood out of silk, and the other is my neurotic cynicism towards women. I know that some of you are yelling at your monitor right now, saying something like, "dude! Just women?", and you've got a point. It is true that I'm cynical regarding pretty much anything I can think of, and have even developed reserve tanks in case something I haven't thought of comes to mind. For example, I'm convinced that a recent spike in traffic to my site has nothing to do with an increasing number of people enjoying the...stuff that goes on here, but rather is an elaborate plot by a secret cabal of C.H.U.Ds who are hoping to boost my ego to the point that I won't think twice when I'm invited to a gathering of local fans in the steam tunnels deep in the bowels of The City. Once there I will be unceremoniously eaten because, you know, that's what C.H.U.Ds do. The difference is that cynicism is quite handy in most cases, one might even say fun. I mean, you might laugh at me when I refuse to join you in accepting an invitation to a rave sponsored by the absolutely-non-cannibalistic-humanoid-underground-dweller society but I'll be the one laughing when your tooth marked body washes up on shore the next morning. Unfortunately this kind of attitude doesn't jive too well when one is trying to shake one's "mojo" or however it is you kids talk these days. The other thing that doesn't help are my two stock responses when encountering a woman who may be interested me are as follows: Me: Did she just smile at me? Me: I think she did, but what if she was just looking in my direction and thinking about a really funny repeat of "Full House" that she saw last night? Me: Now she's looking at me and playing with her hair. Didn't I hear somewhere that's a "flirting sign? Me: Where the fuck would I have heard something like that? Have I been reading Cosmo in my sleep? Me: It could have been a ratings grabber of a show on the discovery channel and they know what they're talking about cause they're educational! Me: Well, if I'm gonna go in I need a plan. How bout if I...No, too cheesy. Me: I know. I'll just be real cool and...What am I thinking? I'd need a llama for that! Me: It's time for action. I'm going in! By the time I get to the "going in" part, it's been about three days and what I'm going in for is the battered copy of "Giant Knockers 17" that I found in the dumpster behind my apartment complex when I was in college. And then there's: Friend: What's the matter with you? Me: What do you mean? Friend: That chick who just left. Me: Yeah? Friend: She asked you to go back to her place! Me: Yeah? Friend: You're hopeless. Me: Wait a second. You don't think she wanted to... That's about the time my friend hits me over the head with something and I wake up the next day with "Giant Knockers 17" playing on my TV. Is there hope for me? Well, if "GQ" comes out and says blood soaked silk is the new black I might just be ok.

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