The B O F H's Evil Twin...
Date: Fri, 18 Aug 95 16:50:43 -0700
From: Peter Langston <psl>
Subject: The B O F H's Evil Twin...
[If you remember the Bastard Operator From Hell series... <WAIT! don't hit
that delete button - yet>... you may recognize the style of this piece, and
the good news is, that it's not a 7 part serialization this time... -psl]
Forwarded-by: firstname.lastname@example.org (Keith Bostic)
Forwarded-by: glen mccready <email@example.com>
Forwarded-by: Karl Asha <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Forwarded-by: email@example.com (Jeff Randall)
Forwarded-by: Michael Kronvold <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Forwarded-by: Romantic Angst <Cerberus.email@example.com>
Posted By: JoltCola (TooHighToFly) on 'Humor'
by Simon Travaglia
It's an early morning and I'm waiting for my bus to oblivion, return
ticket of course.
Beside me in the queue is a stunning blonde, the like of which is only
lied about in cheap novels as the detectives never-attained love
interest. The fool.
I glance over at what she's reading and freeze. "Quantum Optic Theory".
A huge book, 300 pages and least, and *really* small writing with NO
pictures. I glance away as quick as I can, hoping she didn't spot me
looking her way, my mind screaming "INTELLECTUAL THREAT!" at the top of
it's pasty alcohol-soaked lungs.
"You like Physics?" she asks, keenly interested.
I hate good looking women who do that. She doesn't even FAKE dumbness,
she's that sure of herself. (They're brainy on purpose you know. Some
people pretend that you're born with it, but I know better, it's all an
act, they're brainy because they like to be.)
So now I'm on the horns of a dilemma. Big Horns, Big Dilemma. Dinosaur
Horns maybe. I can tell the truth, that I know about as much about Quantum
Optics as she knows about Peruvian jungle Vine climbing (although she's
probably got a book about that in her bag as well) *OR* I can try and fake
it. If I fake it, I'll have to skilfully turn the topic from Quantum
thingies onto something I have the remotest chance of holding my head above
conversation water in.
I go for the fake.
"Yeah, physics is great. You know, Quantum theory is such a universal thing.
Do you know that I always think about it when I'm watching the Lakers play"
...So smooth I won't need oiling for a year...
"You're a lakers fan too?!!"
SHIT!! I went for the sports option because it usually kills a conversation
with a woman within two sentences, (leaving *her* feeling awkward about her
ignorance) but this is really putting the pressure on. For a start I haven't
watched the Lakers for a couple of months. BACKUP RESERVE-PLAN STRATEGY!
"Yeah, the Botswana Lakers, what a team!"
(What a mindnumblingly awesome save!)
"YOU'RE A BOTSWANA LAKERS FAN TOO!!! I WAS THERE FOR A YEAR ON A STUDENT
EXCHANGE PROGRAM IN 1982"
So I'm fucked. It could be the start of a meaningful but exhausting
relationship, or I could just say nothing and step out in front of the bus
when it comes.
I choose the bus, nothing's worse than being caught lying by an attractive
woman. Except being caught lying by my mum of course, but that's a universal
fear. ("It's not what that, it's the lies that hurt" (just kill me now))
The bus trundles up and I step out, but the bastard driving it is new on
the job and hasn't got the common courtesy to run me down.
"What were you doing? You could have been killed!" the blonde pipes up
.. I see my chance for a fantastic super-save ..
".. it doesn't really matter for me, as I have only 2 months to live
THE SYMPATHY VOTE!! A LATE SAVE FROM THIS PLAYER WHO TILL NOW WAS
STARTING TO WORRY THE VIEWING MILLIONS, BUT NOW HE'S ON THE HOME STRETCH
AND POURING IT ON!
"OH NO! Why? How?"
"I've got... "
My mind whirs madly as I try and think of something really disgusting that
isn't sexually transmissible but that I can use to explain my failing memory
of Quantums and Botswana..
"BUT THAT'S NOT FATAL, NOT NOW, THEY HAVE A PLAN TO PUT THE DISEASE INTO
REMISSION, I WAS JUST READING ABOUT IT THIS MORNING!"
".. and a tumor the size of a Brussl Sprout in behind my left eye..."
"CHEMOTHERAPY AND RADIOGRAPHY HAVE ADVANCED SO FAR IN THE LAST COUPLE OF
MONTHS, YOU MAY BE ABLE TO BE CURED, LET ME TAKE YOU TO THE CAT SCANNER
AT MY WORK TO GET A LATE DIAGNOSIS, IT COULD BE WORTH THE CHANCE!!!!"
(That fucking bus driver has a shitload to answer for)
"Well, if you think it would help, but frankly >cough< I doubt it. That
two months was an outside guess, anything from two months down to two hours
the doctor said... ...this morning"
"THEN WE'VE GOT NO TIME TO LOSE, QUICK I'LL GET US A TAXI"
I lurch to the taxi, not wanting to appear ungrateful, acting the dying
selfless bastard to the full, milking it for all it's worth, and wouldn't
you know it, the prick of a taxi driver has those doors that lock when the
car's in motion so you can't leap out into the path of an oncoming
articulated lorry to save yourself embarrasement, IF and ONLY IF, you're
lucky enough to spot one in the first place.
"Oh shit! I haven't got any money for a cab, can you pay?" she says
"Why not, I won't be needing it anyway where I'm going.."
"Oh, don't be like that. Driver - The Lyndon Institute for Medicine"
"You sure lady, that's way across town?"
"Yes, of course I'm sure, this is an emergency"
I think the window's probably not armourglass, so if I smash it open with
my head, I could probably get out and into the path of that lorry with a
bit of luck...
"Hey buddy" the taxi driver calls "You wanna put your seat belt on?"
Now I KNOW that I'm completely stuffed - I've got the ONLY TAXI DRIVER IN
THE *WORLD* WHO MAKES YOU WEAR A BLOODY SEAT BELT!!"
Stuff it, I buckle in and resign myself to fate in the hopes that I can
change the Cat Scanner settings from "Scan" to "Cook 20 pounds of Steak
Mince in 1.5 seconds, burning most of it" when no-one's watching.
I also decide to enjoy the ride and be nice with it.
"Hey, thank's for all your care and attention, you know you're a pretty
THEN IT HITS ME, THE ANSWER TO MY PROBLEMS!!
".. for a blonde chick.."
I wait for the explosion, but none comes.
"Did you here what I said about you being good for a blonde chick?"
"Oh yes. Your poor mind must be so garbled by your tumour that it's
normal, balanced outlook is tainted by archaic sexual stereotypes."
She's too good for me, I pin all my hopes on the Scanner using
microwaves and lapse into silence.
So we get to the Lyndon Institute, after a scenic cab ride involving crossing
town three times (only because the driver was taking the quick route) and
wouldn't you know it, it's one of those HUGE places that have more medical
research underway than the combined third world. I can see that my "dying"
story's going to hold about as much water as an 80 year old's bladder, so
I'm going to have to think of something fast.
Fast is, of course, my middle name.
We roll up the steps, me stumbling and coughing the while, trying all the
time to remember the name of that doctor. You know the one.
I get express service to the X-Ray room first off for a couple of diagnostic
xrays leading up to the Scan. On the way, I palm a scalpel and pop the blade
out of it.
They chuck me into the perfectly harmless X-Ray machine, then retreat behind
the Armageddon-proof Lead screen. "No more rays than sunshine" they say as
they buzz the profile of my head. While they're opening the screen door, I
pull the scalpel blade from behind my ear. They re-arrange my head for a
frontal shot and then retreat back behind the screen, during which time I
stick the scalpel blade, side-on, to the back of my head with some gum.
They buzz me and I grab the blade and stash it in a pocket.
Blondie comes in and starts orbiting the radiographer in the hopes that it
will speed up the development process some. Meantime I become the cheery
poor bastard who has come to terms with his imminent demise.
"What the hell" I say "I'd die for a coke. Really. Ha ha ha"
One is delivered in .003 seconds.
I keep up appearances except when I catch blondy out of the corner of my
eye glancing at me. Then, "completely oblivious of her attention" I sigh
deeply and look out the window at the Sun, sniff slightly, and pull myself
Works every time. If they think they've caught you in an unguarded moment,
they think it's the true you.
The radiographer comes back with the X-rays and there's a lot of hurried
whispering with blondy.
"Simon?" she calls.
I wander over, fresh-faced and innocent, making a brave play of it.
"Simon, have you ever been operated on before?"
"Well, yes, when my tumour was first diagnosed they did some kind of
exploratory or something where I had to get all my hair shaved off. It
wasn't fun at all. But my surgeon helped me through it, he was such a
"Oh? And who was that?"
"Dr Brain Analpeeper, a great guy"
The room went dead quiet, as it always does when someone mentions the worst
surgeon in medical history..
"Not Dr Analpeeper at Landsdown?"
"You know him! He was such a great man! And I don't believe for a minute
all those things they said about him. He was a true gentleman. He calmed
my fears about the operation completely. Why, he even took me drinking
the night before the operation as a bit of a fling. What a night! We must
have got back to the hospital about 6am!"
"You mean he discharged you from the hospital on the night before your
"Oh no, we went up to his office and drank there!"
"And what time was your operation?"
"Oh, I dunno, sometime about 9 I think"
"And exactly what was he looking for?"
"Oh I don't know it was something technical with a really long name"
"Simon, come over here and sit down"
"Why? What's the matter? Hell, it can't be any worse can it? Ha ha "
My conscience is trying to revive itself so it can be properly disgusted at
me for twisting the knife like this, but my ego slips it a mental kick to the
groin and it shuts up.
"Simon, as far as we can see there was no reason to operate on you at all.
We see no xray evidence of a tumor. Of course, we'll run a CT scan to be
"SO I'M CURED!"
"No, not exactly. I'm sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but,
there appears to be an item lodged in your brain. A scalpel blade to
"Well, that's no trouble is it, I mean hell, we could leave it there or
maybe I could get it taken out?"
"Ordinarily, we would operate to remove it, but it looks to be lodged at
a junction of nerve endings, and any mistake could leave you paralysed or
even worse, kill you!"
"So that's it then, my brain's just a time bomb?" >sniff<
"Simon, I don't know what to say, it's so unexpected.."
I check to see there's no guys in the room before I pull the sure-score
move. I start sobbing.
"SO THAT'S IT, I'M REALLY GOING TO DIE..."
"Well, not necessarily. With an altered life-style you could live out a
long and fruitious life"
"YOU MEAN LIFE IN A BED!! NEVER GOING OUT AND EATING PASTE TO STOP MY
JAW MUSCLES PUTTING PRESSURE ON MY BRAIN!!"
"Uh, well, Simon, I don't know exactly how you would..."
"I'D RATHER BE DEAD!!! HELL, I WOULD BE DEAD FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES!"
"I don't think.." she starts, but it's no good, I'm reeling her in and she
doesn't even know it.
"No, I suppose it was always going to happen. Oh well. It's just..."
Killer move. She has to know what I was going to say. She probably doesn't
really want to ask, but she's got no choice, it's that or be a heartless
"Just what?" she asks. (I TOLD YOU SO)
He sweeps the pad clean, he roughs up the mound, he scuffs up the ball, and
"..I just don't want to die alone."
Her brow furrows, but there's still a chance of rejection
"I always thought it would be different. I never thought I'd die a virgin"
He eyes get a little teary, now for the follow through.
"Oh well, it's like they say, you can't always get what you want. I spose
I'd best go and see my Mum, she'd want me to be with her..."
SSTTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERIKE THREE! SHE'S OUT!
"No you won't! It can't be like this!"
YES YES YES YES YES!!!!
NO NO NO NO NO!!!!
Stuffed again is what I am.
Before I can say "Why don't you and your precious institute take a running
leap sideways onto a greased hockey stick strategically mounted atop a 16
foot pile of sharpened ashtrays" I'm being dragged by blondy and a couple
of other surgically addicted brain scum towards what will either be my
death or my transformation into mentally dead. (Read DOS user).
It's time for quick thinking once more.
"WAIT!" I shout at the top of my lungs "I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"
"Well there's risks of course, but some of them have to be taken if you
want to lead a long and full life"
"Long and Full?!?." I sigh heavily and work up to plan Q, which has the
same intended result as A-P, but hopefully will work.
"Tell me, have you ever listened to Henry Rollins?"
"Rollins.. rollins... Oh, isn't he that loud shouting singer?"
Obviously not. The way is clear.
"Well, I suppose you could call him that. But have you ever listened to
his words? The *essence* of what he's singing is life! Real Life, not
30 year old in a wheelchair wetting his pants and dribbling his fish paste
out onto his lap..."
She's getting hooked, you can tell.
"Yeah. I want to SHINE. Hey, maybe I won't shine for long, but for once,
I'd just like to *shine*! I haven't got a hundred years to mess around,
so I want my time to start right now. I want it to be my time to shine"
["Shine" (c) Henry Rollins]
"That's so.." she chokes (sucker) "...so... ...deep"
"Yeah, I guess" (pffft!)
She eats all this up and I'm starting to feel like a complete seal-basher
as her eyes fill up with tears, but what the hell, I've suffered for this,
it's time to share something with those around me.
"What are you going to do now?" she asks, oozing pity at every pore
"Well I don't know. I really want to *live* but I guess I've got to take
care of some stuff, pack up my things and give them to a Relief-Aid shop
and go and see my Mum, she'd like to see me before I go..."
"Look, what you just said, about shining - did you mean that?"
"Yeah, but I guess I've just got to look after all these things, reality
is such a bummer"
I can see the gears turning: Should-I, Shouldn't-I, Should-I, Shouldn't-I, so
I ease a bit more pressure on.
I work out a couple of those really awful wretchy coughs that sound like
I'm backflushing my scrotum, and the deal is done.
She takes a deep breath and:
"LOOK, I DON'T KNOW HOW LONG YOU'VE GOT, BUT HOW ABOUT TONIGHT, YOU AND I
JUST SHINE?! WE'LL GO EVERYWHERE DO EVERYTHING? WHAT DO YOU SAY??!?!!"
"I.. I don't know what... I..."
"OKAY, LET'S DO IT, COME ON. FIRST STOP YOUR PLACE, YOU HAVE TO GET READY!"
She waves a cab and milliseconds we're at my place. Cooo-el.
I, in a fit of coughing 'accidentally' spill ketchup all down her front,
so she goes to the bathroom to clean up. I flip the bathroom cameras on
just in case the night doesn't pan out. Boy Scouts - Be PREPARED!
I decide to play it cool on the dying thing in case she gets scared that
I'll pop my clogs during the main event. Instead I mix some brandy with
some custard powder and shove it in a glass.
She comes out all clean and slightly see-through and I apologise and tell
her that my medicine should clear it up. I down the glass before she can
investigate and dump it in the sink.
"Smells like Brandy and Custard" she laughs, intelligently. If this keeps
up I'm going to get a real inferiority complex which won't help the
performance of the lead act... GOT TO KEEP HER OFF INTELLIGENT STUFF.
"WELL" I say "I'M READY WHEN YOU ARE!!!!"
"You know" she croons, sidling up to me "we could just start the night
here... ...and shine"
YES YES YES YES YES!!!!
"You mean..." I play Doofus for 0.1 microseconds, then reel her in.
"Well, I'm not really..."
She jumps me, as I knew she would. I'M A LUCKY BASTARD!
"I studied 47 different ways of making love..." she purrs.
"...I made up a couple of new ones as well"
"... involving peanut oil and 210 grit sandpaper"
Well she marry me?
"I find I have a fascination with the study of sexual technique"
"..Prurience has always been an interesting topic to me...
BRAIN-TALK!!!! I'm getting alert signals from below. Abandon Ship warnings.
"Ssshhh" I say "Don't talk. Let's just *hold* each other"
"Is that better" she asks
"I find that close contact prior to the manipulation of the genitals to
the point of sexual climax helps to stimulate that climax, allowing it to
acheive a higher plateau of pleasure"
I understood pleasure, but by then it was too late. By then the main
contender had packed up it's bags and gone home.
"Is something wrong?" she asks.
LIKE I'M GOING TO TELL HER AND RISK THE TEENIEST, TINIEST POSSIBILITY THAT
SHE WOULD, AT SOME TIME, EVEN IN THE REMOTEST FUTURE MENTION IT TO SOMEONE...
I obviously need performance ehancing drugs (booze) or earplugs, but
neither are on hand.
"STOP!" I shout "I can't do this! It's so... so..."
"So casual?" she asks, interrupting my mental blockage.
"Yes. I feel that perhaps we're moving too fast in this relationship..."
"You're right" she admits "Perhaps we should get to know each other first. I
tell you what, how about you come back to my place and we'll..."
I want to get out of this situation *REALLY* bad so it's going to have to be
the guilt-ridden-male approach.
"I.. Well, I feel sort of guilty that I..."
"NO NO!" she cries "It was *MY* idea. Now you come with me! My sisters
would love to meet you!"
"..Well, I suppose I could.."
"Great! Lets get going! You'll like my sisters, they're great fun. They
kid me about being the brainy one of the triplets, you know how it goes.."
Two dumb ones.
THERE IS A GOD!
Quicker than you can say "Put on your scoring shirt and meet me at the taxi"
I'd put on my scoring shirt and met her in the taxi.
Eventually we get to her place and she introduces me to her sisters. I
decide to make a timely exit to the toilet so blondy can relate my sad
circumstances to blondy2 and blondy3 and put them in a "giving" mood.
Five minutes later, I come back as the poor bastard and decide to get rid of
the opposition. I throw an impromptu coughing fit and fall to the floor
clutching my stomach.
Sympathy all round.
"Oh dear >cough!<, I forgot my medicine..."
They exchange worried glances but this is one number I know well, all
fourteen verses and *both* the choruses, and I'm hardly likely to stop
at the intro...
"...don't worry" I add selflessly "..it's not too bad, without the medicine
it'll pass in an hour or so. It's >gasp< not all that painful..."
Blondy practically pops a heart valve grabbing my apartment keys and rushing
home to get my 'medicine'. It'll be quite a search too, as the nearest thing
to medicine at my place is Oprah's face on TV Guide, which always leaves a
bad taste in *my* mouth.
...Which gives me ample time...
The other two are looking on in a worried fashion.
"Oh, that's right - I have some a couple of tablets in my pocket."
Out of their sight, I shake out a couple of tic-tacs and down them before
they can get a close look.
Five minutes later I'm in complete form. The girls are perfect, with a
combined IQ equal to my waist measurement and generous with their attentions.
After three 'fainting' spells I'm half-carried to a bedroom to lie down till
I get my strength back.
"You girls, uh, I mean *Women* are so kind, I just..."
"There, there" they whisper soothingly "You just take it easy, and let us
take care of your every..."
The door bursts open and blondy (aka blondy1) rushes in dragging a large
portion of my home-video equipment.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!?!" Blondy demands in a very agitated manner.
Time to think fast....
...Fast it is then.
"It's a video camera." I say, apparently confused (So smoooooth)
"AND WHERE DID I FIND IT?!" She says, not swayed a jot by my apparent
lack of knowledge
"In a video shop?" (Two nil)
"NO, BEHIND A TWO WAY MIRROR IN YOUR BATHROOM, WHILST LOOKING FOR YOUR
Bugger! (Two One)
"Oh, that one. Is that what it looks like? I always wanted to have a
look at it, but I was afraid I'd upset it or something and ruin the
"Documentation?" Blondy asks.
Hook, line and sinker. (Three One)
"Of my condition. They wanted to document my decline for future reference
and so I agreed to let them video me. They tried to make it as unobtrusive
as possible to get a realistic portrayal so they put them behind mirrors
in my bathroom and bedroom."
"Oh" (Four One)
There has *GOT* to be some sort of award I can get for this performance.
And all ad-lib too!!! Now in for the kill.
"Well, I thought its the least I can do. So maybe they can't save me;
but at least I may help buy someone else a few more precious weeks of
life.. Anything's worth a chance."
Tears well up in Blondy's eyes as she sobs (Five One + Double Word Score)
"I'm sorry, I thought you.. I mean.. Oh I'm so sorry..."
"Don't be sorry, you weren't to know. For all you knew, I was just some
pervert who wanted to catch a look at you when you were changing... ..You
didn't erase the tape did you?"
"No.." (Five NIL)
"Good, there might be some good footage on that, and it would be a shame
if it were lost to medical science."
"You're so thoughtful!" Blondy2 and Blondy3 chime simulataneously.
(Blondy was right about these two, slower than airline baggage claim)
Reel in time....
"So thoughtful for someone with such and abstract non-specific disease."
"We feel challenged by the task of diagnosing and curing your affliction.."
>EXIT STAGE LEFT!<
So I'm sitting in the plane waiting for the end of boarding so I can get
from Philly to LA in record time, with all my body parts attached.
I'm hoping like hell that I'll be meeting Miss Right, Miss Right Now or
at least Miss Right Handed, but you never can tell...
... not unless you slip the boarding agent a quick twenty and ask for a
"scenic" view - and we're *not* talking windows seats..
That's the good thing about Free Enterprise, it makes the world go round
and keeps people happy. Namely me.
Unless I'm very much mistaken, my date with destiny is stepping nervously
down the aisle towards me. I try not to think of it as spending - it's more
of an investment.
I bury my head 30 pages into "Gulag Acipeligo" and try to look like I bought
it for the flight. Chunky stuff. Took me three weeks to get this far. And
they say guys don't try....
Destiny stops and looks apoligetic.
"Uh, excuse me"
"23A, that's me"
"Oh sure. Hang on." I make a show of helping her with her bags, dropping
Solzenitzen and my "Jaguar" keyring on the ground in the process, then getting
tangled up in my seatbelt. She stoops to pick it up. Phase One complete.
Solzenitzen is the ultimate score tome, containing the four basic score
facets - It stands for Suffering, Empathy, Brains and Patience (it's about
as dry as a Sahara Sunday and as thick as a phonebook sandwich, but it's the
thought that counts). The target takes one look at it and thinks "They have
to be a patient, empathising brainy bastard to suffer like that".
And I am.
After freeing myself from the clutches of Ms Quantum Physics and sisters
with their IQs of death, I'm just looking for a match of slightly intelligent,
plus a sucker for a sob story.
As she returns my book and keys to me, I untangle myself I mentally tick
off Stage Two. (She'll help someone who appears to be in trouble.)
"Thanks for that" I say, helping her put her luggage into the overhead
compartment "Not my day today at all it appears!". I smile sadly.
(I'm such a sleazy git!)
"Really. Well, you probably want to avoid Solzenitzen then, he's not very
good for cheering people up!" she chips.
A brilliant chip too, but a little to the left of the hole and not at all
taking into account the roll of the green.
"Yes, I suppose you're right, I bought it from one of those blind booksellers
in Frisco a couple of weeks ago and it seems a shame to waste it"
"You didn't want it?"
"Well, not really, the guy just looked like he needed a meal, so I.."
"That's so sweet!"
Go DIRECTLY to STAGE SIX, pass Go twice, collect several hundred dollars.
"It was nothing.."
We prepare for take-off, and surprisingly enough, there's a spare seat
between us, so I do the good thing tell her she can pop the arm rest up
and lax out, as I'm used to travel. She thinks about it then gives in.
She trusts me a little.
The plane prepares to take off, and it appears that my 20 was well spent.
She's a nervous flier.
"Ah, excuse me, I couldn't help noticing, you appear to be nervous" I say
"Well, yes. You see this is my first flight"
OH, YES YES YES!
"Oh I see. Well, I suppose you've heard all those sayings that it's safer
to fly than it is to drive and that your chances of being in an air accident
a almost negligible..."
She visibly relaxes as I speak, which can only mean one thing - She's a
"... unless of course there's some structural fault in the plane.."
".. or the crew have been overworked with long overtime shifts ..."
".. or there's a plane accidentally in our flight path..."
".. But I doubt that it's really probable.. "
SHITTING TWINKIES AND HOLDING
"Look, you still seem a little nervous, this may sound corny, but, well,
would you like me to hold your hand, it used to comfort my wife some when
"Well, uh, I don't know, I.., Are you sure you don't mind?"
"No, no! Not at all. Anything to help!" I gush.
"Well, okay then"
I hold her hand as we taxi for takeoff and smile comfortingly.
"Is your wife still nervous about flying?" target asks
HE GOES FOR PLAY #57, THE OLD DEAD WIFE STORY!
"... she passed away in an accident earlier this year"
"Oh, I'm so sorry". She squeezes my hand in empathy.
"Oh, it's alright now I guess. I.. We.. I guess I'm getting over it"
"Would you like to talk about it?.."
WHAT A CHAMPION DAY THIS HAS TURNED OUT TO BE. OUR HERO, MR GIT, HAS TAKEN
POLE POSITION IN THE POOR-BASTARD CHARITY STAKES!!!
She's helpless with compassion. She's MINE! MINE! ALL MINE!!!
"..I find that sharing someone's problems sometimes helps"
All was going well right up until the word "find". "Find" means education.
Empirical research. Oh *PLEASE* don't let her be a Psych major - 95% of whom
should be case studies...
"What, you've done this with your studies" I sniffle, hoping for denial.
"Oh, no!..." she smiles
"...no, we don't deal with people in the field of Abstracted Thermodynamics.."
© 1995 Peter Langston