The Sales Pitch
by Aaron Rushton

Stepping out of the shower, he cursed the phone and whoever was on the other end. Clichés become cliché for a reason. Shampoo was beginning to seep into his eyes, and the dog was eagerly lapping up as much of the water dripping from the master’s naked buttocks as possible. The cat was, of course, not as interested in the water as he was the new toys dangling in mid-air. Maybe they jingled.

“Hello? What? Oh, uhh, yeah, that’s me. No, no, not a bad time. I was, uhh, just… working out. Didn’t hear the phone the first few times. Right. No, no, I’ll hold. Sure.”

As Miles Davis softly drifted out of the telephone, the king surveyed his castle. There was an empty 750 of Wild Turkey Rare Breed lying on the couch. An open pizza box with a pile of crusts sat on the coffee table. The DVD menu still looping on the TV made him thankful that he’d had the foresight to arrange his living room with the screen hidden from any windows.

“Yeah, go ahead.

“Sure, I can do that.

“Today?

“That’s… that’s like, 40 minutes from now! I live 30 minutes away from the building, even if there’s no traffic!

“I can’t--! I-- Well, right… OK, but can’t somebody meet me there? Miller? Radford?

“Alright, alright… I’ll be there.”

His boxers and undershirt did the job his towel hadn’t had a chance to do. His pants stuck to his leg with the force that can only be summoned by wet no-press Dockers. The coat and tie managed to conceal the wet spots on his shirt, but the layers of stiff cotton combined with the residual heat from the shower didn’t help his antiperspirant any.

The group had seemed pleased with his presentation, and had given their secretary the go-ahead to fill out the necessary paperwork. It was only afterwards, at the urinal, that he noticed the position of his zipper and finally realized what the American Legion Ladies’ Auxiliary Post 1451 had found so funny about selling gravesite wreaths for Memorial Day.

55 word story

The blood had turned the bandages from sterile white to foul ruby. Tufts of dark golden fur still clung to his uniform, now lying in strips on the table next to the bed. The ranger’s wife, drunk with worry, only said “What an awful time to find out he didn’t have a sense of puma.”

An Open Letter to my Ex-Ex-Ex Girlfriend

It’s been what, two or three years now?
I still remember that thing you do
when you smile
where you bite your lip
and try to avoid my eyes.

I’ve forgotten my old address,
I always lose my keys,
and I forget that my parents
even have birthdays.
But those ten digits
(plus a 1 if I’m calling from home)
won’t leave my mind,
no matter how politely I ask.

We couldn’t last. I know.
We want different things.
I know.
We’re such different people.
We’re so far apart.

Yeah.
You’ve told me.
I know.

But when did knowing ever stop me?

Every time I meet a girl,
I say I’m over you.
And every time I lose a girl,
I don’t miss her…

Somehow
you invaded
every part
of my life.
I can’t eat,
or drink,
or smoke,
or read,
or even think
of a house
on a hill
in the trees
with a dog
without your laugh
invading my mind.

I won’t ask around,
and I’m not going to call.
I just want to know…

Does she love you the way I used to?

The Drift

I keep both eyes fixed on the road
and my hands are latched on the wheel.

I see the stars
I hear the whine
I feel the road
I fear the drift.

Clarksville will be what takes my life
despite my love of greasy food.

The motor hums
radio sings
the windows fog
here comes the drift.

Freezing night air keeps me alive
any warmth is my enemy.

I blink a mile
I dread sharp curves
Was that a cop?
Not drunk, just drift.

Bed is just thirty endless miles
the Bataan Death March was sixty.

Eyes don’t listen
hands don’t obey
feet don’t respond
trapped in the drift.

Highway 48 my paved hell
but hell has grown quite soft on me.

My left eye dies
welds itself shut
clamps itself tight
struck by the drift.

Clock glows 4 in harsh neon blue
zeroes mock my incessant yawn.

A deadly state
I’m not asleep
I’m not awake
I’m in the d r i f t . . .

Rascality
As I was packing up at the end of my 8th semester at Harding, Drew came in.
This semester had not been typical. This semester was filled with new friendships becoming strong ones in the matter of a few short months. This semester was filled with friendships from the semester before becoming even stronger. This semester was filled with countless late nights devoted to many things other than study. This semester also happened to be the semester in which I was diagnosed with clinical depression, missed at least 5 consecutive weeks of class, and went home in mid-April.
The guys were helping me pack. My parents were here. The final jokes were being told, the last remembrances remembered. Drew came in.
“Hey, Aaron. Somebody told me you’re leaving.”
“Yeah, dude.”
“Man, that sucks. Well, hey, you’ll be back next semester, right?”
“That’s the plan, man.”
“Oh, alright, cool. I mean, it wouldn’t be the same without you, you know? Where else would we go to play poker and stuff? You’re like the Kingpin of Grad.”

Obsession
I met her in my History 101 class. She sat two rows to the left and 3 seats back. I ran into her in the art building. She had a painting class and I had Art for Early Childhood. I saw her around campus. We both go to school here.
I asked her out on a date, she said yes. I am irresistible to women.
The date went well enough. We saw a sophomoric comedy that made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe. On our drive back I made her laugh so hard I had to steer her truck for her. At the end of the night I asked for another date and she said yes. Mission accomplished.
Two dates passed.
As it turned out, she had another class with the roommate of my very close friend Natalie. Through a natural progression of feminine events, she and Natalie wound up eating dinner together to talk about whatever else girls talk about including the topic of the one and only Aaron J. Rushton.
Natalie, being the ever-vigilant field scout, asked the inevitable questions. How was the date? Did you have a good time? Isn’t he funny? Did you like the movie? Any questions about Aaron I can help you with?
“Well, Natalie, yes, there is one, actually…”
“Oh? Well, ask me, I’ll see if I can give you an answer.”
“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great guy, and I had a really fun time hanging out with him, and of course I think he’s cute and all, but…”
“But?”
“But I just want to know when he’s going to grow out of that whole comic book thing.”
We went on one more date.

Humor, incessant
I’ll admit, it was nothing but a pity date. Or, rather, would have been a pity date if it had actually happened.
It’s not that I hated her or anything, because I really did count her as one of my friends. And it’s not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed hanging out with her one-on-one, because I was pretty OK with that when it had happened in times past. But I was just so sick of hearing her whine constantly about not being able to get a date.
So I asked. Either way it would shut her up.
She said no, which really shocked me. I don’t mean to sound arrogant, it’s just that I figured when a girl’s standards are as low as hers were, even I should be able to clear that hurdle.
A few days later, she sat next to me in the cafeteria. After the prerequisite banter telling each other approximately half of how our day had been, she surprised me with a revelation.
“You wanna know why I said no when you asked me out?”
“Uh, sure. Why not.”
“It’s because I can never tell if you’re joking or serious.”

Wit
To put it bluntly and politely, Josh was an idiot.
I’d already told him a million times if I’d told him once, yet every day he asked for repetition. He’d spew forth some obscene rambling that barely fit any context of the situation, receive a few pitiful laughs, mostly from himself, and then look to me for approval or reprobation.
“You know what Aaron? You can just shut up.”
“Dude. I didn’t even say anything.”
“Yeah, but you were gonna.”

With gas prices predicted to reach a record high of 7 bajillion dollars per gallon by the end of this year, Americans all over America (insert: the country) are asking “What can I do to save money on gas?”
Well, nobody asked me, but I’ve got smart-alecky answers anyway. Who am I?
I’m Aaron Rushton. I’m your humor columnist.
A lot of fuss has been made lately about alternative fuel sources, as if that’s just magically going to solve all our problems. I don’t know about you, but everything I’ve ever heard about alternative lifestyle choices has just pretty much amounted to bad news.
You see, the problem is not that gasoline and other petroleum products are being depleted and becoming rarer-er, it’s just that gasoline suddenly became very collectible. Just like Furbies, Tickle-Me Elmo, Ty Beanie Babies, Tamagotchi virtual pets, pogs and slap bracelets were all the crazes of yesteryear, so gasoline has become today.
Soccer moms across the country (football moms in other parts of the world) have become obsessed with this latest trend, paying sometimes upwards of 50 dollars just for a tank of gas they’ll use once, maybe take around town to show their friends, and then it will simply be a fading memory, signified by nothing more than a scrawl in the checkbook.
But soon enough the crazy fad-hoppers will realize that gasoline isn’t really ever going to get them anywhere in life, and it’s really just taking up space on the bookshelf. They’ll lose interest with the once-so-cool unleaded fuel and turn their attentions elsewhere, to whatever the next fad may be. (A brief side note: experts predict this next fad will be old VHS recordings of the television Columbo mysteries, starring Peter Falk. Just a heads-up for all you eBay hounds.)
But what to do in the meantime, while demand is still skyrocketing due to short-sighted collectors?
For starters, don’t drive anywhere unless you’re planning on getting more than one thing done. Take my situation, for example. I could simply drive to Little Rock each week to go to the comic book store, but that’s only getting one thing done. Since I’m already in Little Rock, why don’t I get a few other things done? I’ve been meaning to go to Best Buy and look for a few movies, so this has already saved me a trip! Also, I’m hoping to drive to Palo Alto, California, for Spring Break, and since I’m already out in Little Rock, it’d be a waste of gas to do all the driving back to Searcy, since that’s the direction I came from, not the direction I want to go! So, to conserve gas, try to consolidate trips. Never make three if you can make just one.
Along that same line of thinking, I heartily recommend carpooling and ride-sharing. If you’re going to be driving out to a church in Judsonia on Sunday morning, find friends who are going, too. Either ride with them or give them a ride. That way everybody saves gas. Or if you and a “special someone” are going to Little Rock for a romantic evening out, find another dating couple and give them a ride. Even if you don’t know anybody who wants to get in your smelly car with you and mess up their hair on your nasty sagging upholstery, hit them over the head with your tire iron and throw them in the back seat anyway. Having more people in the car improves gas mileage. Or something.
So far, I’ve mentioned two ways to save money just by conserving gasoline. But there are options that don’t involve gasoline at all. Did you know that horses do not require any gasoline to run at maximum efficiency? Or oil changes? Or brake pads? Now, I fully realize that learning to ride a horse is a difficult and time-consuming thing, and not everybody’s got the time, ability, or willingness to confront an animal with really long teeth. As if these barriers weren’t enough to overcome, horses are apparently pretty expensive. Not like brand-new-car expensive, but pretty expensive anyway. So my alternative suggestion is easy: cattle. They’re just as maintenance-free as horses, they run on grass, and can hold plenty more people than horses. Think of them as natural agrarian SUVs. Except my Suburban doesn’t make milk.
If riding a cow isn’t your cup of tea (or if you think it’s just a load of bull! Ha! Cow! Bull! Joke!) , there are other methods of transportation simply waiting to be explored and exploited by the too-lazy-to-walk-to-Memphis masses. According to some interweb site I found on the world net wide net, the U.S. Army once did a bunch of tests back in the early 60’s where they tried to fire rockets into space from really big guns. It really didn’t work too well as far as the space thing goes, but you could still be a human cannonball. Have you seen how cheap gunpowder is these days? And it’s really easy to set up, too.
But hey, this isn’t all there is to modern transportation. What about rocket bikes? Or speed vitamins? Or wearing a pair of roller skates with a battery-powered fan on your back blowing into a rudimentary sail fashioned from a few sticks and some construction paper? These and many more are perfectly valid ideas. You may be thinking “Hey, Aaron, weren’t these all gimmicks used by Wile E. Coyote to try to catch the Road Runner, only to fail miserably and cause terrible pain and harm to his body?” Well, yeah! But the big difference here is: he’s a cartoon!
AARON RUSHTON is the humor columnist for The Bison and may be reached at AaronRushton@gmail.com. Meep-Meep.

I heard the funniest joke the other day, and I want to tell it to all of you. You can repeat this when you go home for the summer. Here goes:
“A man walked into a bar, feeling pretty lonely. Then he drank himself dangerously close to oblivion, trying to solve his problems by drowning in a bottle, causing serious damage to not only his liver but also his spirit.”
OK, so maybe it’s not so much “funniest joke” as it is “altogether too true account of what happens to a lot of people in the world”. It’s easy to get those two confused sometimes.
There’s something in the human condition that makes us put up a front of invulnerability. For the most part, none of us are super eager to tell everybody around us what we’re dealing with deep down. Sure, we’ll complain about the 15 page paper that’s due in a week. Moaning and groaning about bad food in the caf? Not a problem. But telling somebody that we’re spending our nights feeling miserable because we feel like nobody cares… well… that’s not really anybody’s strong suit, as far as I’ve found.
How in the name of Darryl E. Strawberry does somebody – anybody – get ignored on this campus? I understand that not everybody can be the most popular person in a dorm. Not everybody can be a host or hostess for Spring Sing. Not everybody can have their own column in the newspaper. That’s simply a fact of population density. If there were only 20 of us on campus, of course we’d all know each other’s names and faces and places and bases and cases and races and I’m very sorry, I just got through reading some Dr. Seuss.
We’re at Harding University. This is a Christian campus. The goal most of us are striving towards is one of a lifestyle imitative of Christ himself. If we’re all doing that, or at least trying to, nobody here should slip through the cracks. Right?
Wrong, apparently.
On a campus of roughly 5,000+, we have far too many people who aren’t known. I know it’s not possible to know everybody on campus. But everybody on campus needs to be accepted by somebody.
Not just counting the fact that I feel like it’s basically a scam centered on matching shirts and bought friends, I really am not a fan of social clubs. I think it’s great that people can get into a group and have a good time and be accepted, but what about the people that aren’t in clubs? What about the people that can’t afford the dues? What about the people who don’t have friends?
Hey, yeah, I know, the guy always smells like popcorn butter. Go talk to him. Yeah, I know, she’s always wearing the least fashionable ensemble you’ve ever seen. Go talk to her. Be genuine. You don’t have to be interested in Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 7th edition to ask somebody if he or she is having an OK day. You don’t have to be insincere, and you don’t have to become somebody’s new best friend. But seek out the lonely, seek out those who might be outcast from society, and let them know that they are accepted. Let them know they have worth as people. Let them know that they matter to you, even if it is only your Christian love for them that is compelling you to do so.
As we wrap up another year, I submit to you a humble request. I ask only that you be good to somebody who looks like they could use it. If the first thing that comes into your mind when you see somebody sitting alone is “What a loser”, make a difference in that person’s life immediately. It’s not everyday that we find ourselves performing CPR, but it’s entirely possible that a handshake and a smile can save somebody’s life.

Hey there, loyal readers! And just so you don’t feel left out, hello to you, also, not-at-all-loyal readers! It’s nice to know that if my back’s up against the wall, you certainly won’t be there to bail me out.
This week’s column was going to be an in-depth analysis of the mysteries of the relationships, both professional and romantic, between members of 70’s funk & soul powerhouse Average White Band and the original cast of “The Golden Girls”, but there was an absolute flood of things that weren’t comic books coming into my mailbox this week. “What were these non-comic-book things?” you may be asking. Well, letters from my readers, duh. As if they could be anything else. Honestly! Do I seem like the kind of guy who gets any type of mail that is anything but comic books and letters from readers? Of course not. Silly you for asking such a question. So this week, I’m going to be taking some time off to answer questions from my readers. Let’s get started.

Dear Aaron,
My fiancée and I are having a really big fight right now, and I think it’s a completely dumb thing to fight about. I want to get married in my home church, with friends and family in attendance, wearing a traditional wedding dress, with all the men in nice tuxedoes and my bridesmaids in light pink dresses. I want the service to be performed by my old preacher, and I want our reception to be held in the same little country restaurant where my older sister had her reception.
He wants to get married at a KISS concert, wearing jeans and a faded KISS ARMY t-shirt with his face painted like Gene Simmons. He then wants our reception to be held at some motorcycle bar called “Devil’s Heaven”. What should I do?
Jessica

Well, Jessica, I’m no relationship expert, but I am an expert on good taste in music. For starters, you’re making the mistake of agreeing to marry a KISS fan. I think you’re failing to understand the immediacy of the problem here. This isn’t just some cheesy band that should have retired their guitar strings before they were 40, this is KISS. It’s far worse. Do you really want your children raised in a house with a KISS fan? KISS fans have been known to carry communicable diseases such as mouth-breathing, excessive hairspray use, and lowered IQ. For the safety of your family and yourself, you should call off the wedding, break up with your fiancée, and seriously consider a restraining order. Beating him a few times, with a big stick, about the head and neck region, savagely and without mercy wouldn’t be a bad idea, either.

Aaron, my man,
A few months ago I met a girl who I thought was really awesome. She was really cute, which is totally awesome. We were talking about some really awesome stuff and then she asked me if I wanted to go to Waffle House. So I’m thinking “Awesome!” Well, then we got to Waffle House and I started looking at the menu and realized something that is definitely not at all awesome. I don’t know what to order. When I’m here with my totally awesome buddies, I normally just order a couple waffles, since they’re awesome at Waffle House, but this time I was worried that if I just ordered the waffles, she’d think I was predictable and lame, and that would not be awesome. So I was looking at the pork chops. I think pork chops are awesome, but I don’t want to spend all of my money. I figured, hey, Aaron’s a fat guy, he ought to know how to help me out, right? That’d be awesome, man!
Hungry at the House

OK, first off, you’re not a KISS fan by any chance, are you? Secondly, I’m pretty sure any girl that’s voluntarily agreed to come to Waffle House with you doesn’t have the mental facilities necessary to think that someone is either predictable or lame, so I don’t think you’ve got to worry about that. Just be yourself and she’ll think you’re totally awes… great.

aaron i think i have food poisoning help
Well, in that situation, the best thing to do is to try to identify the food that you… wait! What are you doing writing me a letter? How is this supposed to help? Get to a hospital!

Aaron,
If train (A) leaves Chicago, IL at 5:30 AM central standard time traveling at an average speed of 55 MPH east towards Philadelphia, PA, and another train (B) leaves Philadelphia at 12:15 PM eastern standard time traveling at an average speed of 110 KPH west towards Chicago, at what time and in what state will the two trains meet? I’ve got a heroin shipment I’m trying to get Jimmy Hoffa's body (instead of heroin shipment) out of the country and I need to know when I can meet up with my
partner.

Am I allowed to answer that?

Capitalizing on Trends

So, I don’t know if you’ve been watching it any, but I’ve noticed that lately there has been a rash of poker shows on TV. And I’ve also found that Hastings has felt the need to put a big poker display right in the front of the store, just so you can’t miss it when you walk in. And I’ve also noticed that almost everybody thinks they’re a poker professional now, playing online, on their cell phones, or with a group of friends late at night.
Poker has caught on, for whatever reason. Poker is the big thing right now. I’m not really in a position to take any kind of position on the game or its players, but since I’m a humor columnist, it’s perfectly legal for me to make fun of it.
The biggest thing that I find so funny about this poker craze is really the same thing that I find funny with every other craze. There’s something floating around that is unrealistically popular, for whatever reason, and people across the country are more than willing to lose tons of money on it. The consumerism fever has spread, and we’re all becoming a nation of chip-stacking card-dealing sheep.
I don’t mind this too much. In fact, I’m hoping to make a whole lot of money off of this idea. I don’t mean the poker idea so much, but more the idea of fads that grab our collective attention spans by the throat and don’t let go until it officially jumps the shark, just like poker is probably about to do, with the forthcoming release of “All In”, the new single-mom-who-happens-to-be-a-professional-poker-player sitcom starring Janeane Garofalo, whose name is playing utter havoc upon my spell checker (Janine Grovel? Jean Garfield? Jambalaya Gorgonzola?).
So what on earth am I blathering about? I’ll gladly tell you. I’m going to become a multi-billionaire by predicting, manufacturing, and capitalizing on the next big thing(s) in American culture.
For starters, as a backlash against the Las Vegas lifestyle embodied and embraced in the recent poker craze, Americans at large will feel the repentant need to return to a life of simplicity and virtue. The result? Massive popularity of all things Amish.
Entire aisles at Barnes & Noble stores across the country will be devoted to Amish literature, both fiction and non-fiction, with titles like “Love in the Time of Pure Sorghum Molasses”, “Amish for Dummies”, and “Amish Ted Maupin’s Tales of the Butter”.
Network TV will cash in on the Amish craze with new TV shows, including “The Price is Amish”, a game show centered on guessing the prices of various hand-crafted Amish goods, “CSI: Amish”, a crime scene investigation show with a crew limited by their disdain of all things electronic and modern, and “The Amish and the Restless”, a daytime soap revealing the intricate drama of the lives of a group of Amish youths and all the torrid details of their scandalous affairs. Will Jedidiah find out that Hezekiah skipped his milking chores? Will Mary’s dress fly up to reveal her impurely adorned ankle to all the barn working men? Tune in tomorrow, but only after you clean out the chicken coop!
Cable TV won’t be too far behind, either. ESPN will pick up the annual World’s Strongest Amish Man competition, which pits challengers against each other with events such as Turning On Electrical Appliances Without Feeling the Pangs of Guilt Associated with a Sinful Life, Milking 50 Cows in 10 Minutes, and Mending Fences Using Only Your Teeth.
But of course, like all fads do, the Amish craze will die out. The only children with the “Amish 4 Lyfe” t-shirts will be the dorky ones. The overnight success story of amishamishamish.com will come to a tragic end when the last 24 hour Amish webcam shuts off. Old Navy will start carrying t-shirts that say “I liked the Amish before they were cool”, and then everybody will know, the end has finally come, and it is now time for us, as a nation of easily persuaded market-following sheep, to move on to our next big thing: international Rock-Paper-Scissors competition. Sizzaz in tha HOOD!

This was edited down to one-half of its original length because of space. Honestly, when you give a guy a column, can't you just tell somebody whining over something in last week's paper to shut up?

Happy belated Valentine’s Day! You know what that means, don’t you?
It means that 2005 has got a firm grip on reality and probably isn’t going anywhere for the next ten months and change.
As I was sitting in my dorm room by myself reading comics this Valentine’s Day, I thought to myself how good and pleasant it is to be in the company of people who care about you. So many of us here at Harding are blessed with close friends who help us through the daily grind, and several of us are fortunate enough to have a significant man or woman in our life to help pass the time and share the load.
But did you know that there are still single people at Harding University? Of all places! It’s sad to think about, I know. Don’t you just wish there was something that could be done to help stamp out all this mindless solitude?
Well, fret not my friends, I bring you tidings of good cheer. This week, I am setting aside my humble and lowly humor column to bring you the Harding University Personals.
These personal advertisements were all written by the people who placed them, I haven’t edited anything. For legal reasons, we can’t actually list anybody’s name, but don’t worry, we’ve made sure there’s some way to contact your potential significant other.
- HARDING MAN seeking HARDING WOMAN for just a fun relationship, nothing serious, nothing long-term. 12 carat engagement ring included. E-mail kicksngiggles@date.com
- “CHICK-FIL-A CHARLIE” seeking WHOEVER THAT CUTE short blonde girl was that I walked back to her dorm. I think her name was Brandy? Mandy? Maybe Jessica? I never got your number. Or last name. Or major. Meet me at Chick-Fil-A again next Tuesday; I’ll be wearing some kind of denim, probably. Might be in khakis.
- DEMOCRAT seeking DEMOCRAT. Nothing romantic, just making sure I’m not the only one. E-mail lonelyliberal@harding.edu.
- EMO_BOY_182 seeking BREAK-UP. I’m trying to write my sad whiny emo songs but my life is actually going pretty good right now, so I need a girl to be really mean to me for a while and then break up with me. I’m the kinda-long-haired guy in the faded t-shirt with the badly tuned acoustic guitar; I’ll be on the front lawn moping under a tree.
- CATHCART GIRL seeking CONE GUY interested in getting married and living off campus. I don’t like my roommate. Just come to the lobby, I’ll be waiting.
- BOY seeking GIRL. My standards are pretty low. Dial 8453.
- DUDE seeking CHICKS, yes, that’s with an s, as in plural. I didn’t start dating until I got to Harding, so I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Don’t worry about finding me, I’ll find you.
- WOMAN seeking BOY. Some people say I’m high maintenance, but their opinion doesn’t really matter now, does it? Of course not. You agree with me, don’t you? Of course you do. I expect to be taken to dinner and a movie in Little Rock at least once a week, and every third week a live performance in Memphis with dinner at a coat-and-tie restaurant. On bi-monthly anniversaries, you can pick where we go: Dallas or St. Louis. I say bi-monthly simply because reservations do fill up quickly. We won’t watch action movies, comedies that don’t star Reese Witherspoon, or anything involving space ships. No hamburgers, Taco Bell, pizza, Chinese food, buffalo wings, or anything under $20 per plate. All in all, I’m just a little angel looking for a sweetheart! E-mail kissykisskiss@icicle.com
- GUY seeking OTHER GIRL to replace GIRL for OTHER GUY. Guy 1 (me) is roommates with Guy 2 (him). Girl 1 (her) is current girlfriend of Guy 2 (him). Girl 1 (demon princess) is really bad for Guy 2 (spineless wimp), so Guy 1 (I) want to get Girl 2 (you) to meet Guy 2 (him) and somehow wrestle Guy 2 (hopelessly whipped) away from Girl 1 (the dark one). Mail HU Box 14613 with picture, name, and short bio, I’ll contact you.
- LONELY GIRL seeking PERFECT GUY. I’m an internationally renowned supermodel who just happens to be a fully trained chef; you’re a big, burly comic book collector with a passion for James Bond movies. I’m irresistibly attracted to Hawaiian shirts and 3-day stubble; you’re an avid Cartoon Network fan who can quote Monty Python skits to no end. I love a man who drives a beat-up Suburban almost as old as I am; you’re convinced that Spring Sing would be better if it featured Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. Where are you, my perfect man? E-mail me at keepondreamingfatboy@yeahright.com
So, there you have it, I guess. I hope I’ve helped at least one of you out there move towards a happier life with a new somebody special at your side. For the rest of you, well, there’s plenty of fish in the sea, and sardines are only 79¢ at Wal-Mart.
I’ve got to write an e-mail real quick. See you next time!