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Insanity keeps moving up slowly

What’s that? Keggers are the bizomb? And you discovered today that not only are mass-produced PC’s (see: Dell, Compaq, et al) ridiculously simple to upgrade, but there’s also a fair amount of money to be made in the practice of upgrading peoples’ computers for them? Good work Chris, you’re a genius

That’s the kind of thing that my brain tells me when I go to sleep at night. He also tells me that I’m super-intelligent, very strong, good-looking and great in bed. OK I admit that he’s lying about the “good looking” and the “very strong” part, but that’s because he’s trying to bribe me, trying to get beer or caffeine, or some other drug that makes him happy. Stupid brain.

I don’t get to see a lot of TV these days, but since I spent much of this evening at Fiona’s place it seemed like the perfect time for killing brain cells. We watched the Edwardian House of Something or Other and Drop Dead Gorgeous. Not to mention John Grisham’s The Rainmaker, but the thing that struck me most was some kind of show that kept attracting Fiona’s channel-surfing trigger-happy index finger whenever a commercial break interrupted our scheduled viewing. It was about celibacy. Those that know me best know that I was celibate for about a year, from late 2000 to late 2001. Not by choice of course, this celibacy was because I’m a loser, but the show we watched tonight was talking about voluntary celibacy.. something to do with happiness, something to do with religion, it was all very sketchy.

Dozens of emotionally retarded adults were onscreen talking about how great their celibacy was, and how fantastic the institute of marriage would be for them, because they would be waiting for someone who respected their genitals and because “my husband will be the best sex partner I’ve ever had.” No fucking shit. You’ve never been laid and you think your future husband will be the best lay you’ve ever had? Whoa.. did you figure that out all on your own?

I was starting to get the impression that these women (there were one or two men, but the dozens of untouched women generally caught my eye more frequently) might be a little disappointed when they finally did get their man in the sack, seeing as how the imagination is a much greater partner than they could ever hope for, when a psychologist/sex therapist/voodoo cock doctor popped up on screen with a plain, thoroughly amusing truth: Most virgins marry other virgins, so although their new partner really is the best lay they’ve ever had, they’re both as sexually inept as eachother and haven’t the slightest notion of how to please eachother, leading to disappointment all round

It’s so deliciously depressing that I couldn’t help but laugh my ass off. Then I told Fiona that I was taking a vow of celibacy — and she cried. Then I told her that we would enjoy our sex much more when we get married — and she cried even more. Then I told her I was lying — and she said she knew.

Fin