Allow me...

... to set the record straight on this.

People who peel labels off their beer bottles are not sexually frustrated.

They find in their fidgeting a joyously meditative trance that enables them to tap into an other-worldliness not found at your everyday local pub.

For instance, last night, while peeling a label from a particularly cold bottle of Pale Ale, I entertained a momentary day-dream (mid-evening-dream?) that Wayne Gretzky and that annoying kid from the "I-see-dead-people" movie were coming at me on a golf cart, in a ghost town, with demons in their eyes. They were more than apparently intent on giving my ass a royal beating, but there was no point in running, as the fantasy lay in the knowledge I'd slip into Matrix-mode and do a half-dozen or so body-flips, upper-cuts and roundhouses, leaving them strewn in pieces about the town's central intersection.

There simply isn't any sexual dimension to this type of beer-bottle-peeling, and I whole-heartedly refuse to hear from anyone who says there is.

Also, anyone wishing to question my masculinity (requiring 'Matrix-mode' to take out two culturally-iconic symbols of weaklingdom) would do well to consider the day-dream's bloodless, CGI-texture, and to keep in mind that when I pulled the heart out of that kid-actor, he seemed to realize he was crying - and wasn't acting - all in the same breath. So that I'd transformed him in some way that he needed, and appreciated, even.

Were I a skilled-enough techie, I'd seal off all opportunity for comment on this post, forcing you to keep your depraved notions about violent-fantasy and sexual-repression to yourselves. But seeing as how I don't know HTML from a hollowed out blade of grass, I have no choice but to endure your petty insinuations and insults.

So go to town now, if you feel you must.

Posted by ÿ at May 25, 2003 08:05 PM