Don't ask me where I am in life.

It's not that I don't try to make sense of it all but the constant abuses of television,
music and the internet has marred my ability to tell the difference between a
conversation and a 5 minute skit on some stupid cable channel where one guy is
hitting another with a rolled up newspaper because he's "befouled" the carpet.

Anyway I digress, I often look round and wonder if everybody else on this planet has
a script except me, or maybe I was given the script for a seedy 70's porn flick, yeah
that's me, I'm the one standing on the stage naked, wearing a hard hat and wondering
if there is a way to commit suicide without it causing a mess or being painful (because
knowing MY luck I'd be reincarnated as the guy who has to clean up AFTER me).

I have tried communication but found it to be unsuccessful.  You meet a good looking
girl and "hi want to practice making babies" results in the kind of groinal pain
associated with a line drive in baseball (a sport I've never watched but have been told
has elements of a boxing match and runs about the length of the OJ trial).

Now I'm not one to complain (at least not more than once, twice, OKAY I AM THE
TYPE OF GUY WHO COMPLAINS) but surely there are better ways for humans to
interact.  Guys should wear signs saying "HORNY" although I feel that we would run
out of signs long before we run out of guys, especially if you include all those
hormonally influenced adolescents secretly looking at the Victoria secrets catalogue
wondering how they can get a woman with nipples you could hang your coat on.

And women should wear the appropriate signs.  Now if you are a single guy you
already know these signs.  "In your dreams" "Not for a million dollars" and the
favourite "I have pepper spray!!!"

Yes I had a girl and she appreciated me for all my foibles.  The incessant rambling,
the inability to differentiate between real life and the private war zone going on in my
mind…  I really need a girl who when I run into a room screaming, "the defences are
breached!  Grab a weapon and defend the queen!" *swings 5 foot broadsword* can
just smile and maybe only throw a cushion at me.  The type I don't want is the one
where I start off dodging cutlery and end up dodging furniture.  Example below

*cup*
*plate*
*TABLE*
*ambulance*

But eventually love drifted away on the breeze and I was left alone again, nobody to defend the queen with me.  I look on it like a learning experience and now I'm dusting off the I'm horny sign in a vague hope that over the past 4 years women have disposed of their pepper spray ones.

so my advice to all you out there is get a sign, put the hospital on speed dial and
whatever you do DON'T rub those eyes.  The spray doesn't sting long….