Envy

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Rare is the natural-born chick magnet. Or, rather, rare in MY experience—which is, admittedly, severely limited—and, further, limited to Northern Flapjackistan. Regardless, my (admittedly) unsolicited advice? Young man: Take FULL advantage. Just my “two cents.” Just in case you aren’t already. This presumes that you are not a religious man. Presuming my aforementioned presumption is none too presumptuous, then, by all means, you absolutely MUST look upon this gift of yours as a biological FORCE of life—a FORCE you are, no less, of course, IMBUED with. YOU, sir, have a responsibility. Feel no guilt. But DO use protection. Please, by all means, SPREAD the “wealth” —and ONLY the “wealth,” if you catch my drift.* As for me, I’ll be up in the “stands,” so to speak, rooting you on. Best I can do. (MOST I can do, really, as I would not want to interfere.) But if I am lucky, perhaps some of your pheromonal magic will, in due course, rub off on me. Mayhap, just by hanging around you long enough—through, I dunno, some kind of etheric osmosis—the cellular makeup of my body will “learn” to manufacture and give off enough Casanova-ian love-fumes to sustain a carnal rampage of my own. You know how pre-menopausal women who live under the same roof seem to sync up their monthly clocks? Like that. Something like that. I mean, without the blood and the cramps, etcetera. Ok, maybe nothing like that. Sorry I brought it up. 

23 November 2005 

*[I have no idea what I meant by this.]

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