Okay kiddies, I have given you, my faithful readers, several columns in which I have poured out my heart and soul, recounting a history of my foiled love attempts. This column will be no different, I shall tell you all about yet another relationship that crashed and burned long before it ever took off.
Back in my youthful days in Thrustin’ Hell, I met the most gorgeous girl I have ever had the privilege of laying my eyes on. Her name was Annon. (Doesn’t that name just send shivers up your willeys?). She was also a resident of the Hall of Hormones and Horniness. Her beauty was unmatched in all my many years of looking longingly at members of the fairer sex.
During the time that I knew her (actually, I never really knew her, I just sort of always happened to be in the laundry room at the same time she would be there folding her unmentionables), we never spoke more than a few words. Usually it would be something like, “Stop looking at me, loser!” But I knew that in those dismissals of me, there was hope for a meaningful and lasting relationship, just like occurred every Friday and Saturday night in the Halls of Horniness.
In my entire freshman year, the only thing that kept me going late at night when everyone else had long since passed into the REM stage of sleep, was dancing visions of her in my head. This goddess of love was in my mind at all times; it sometimes caused me considerable discomfort and embarrassment when her mental presence was obvious to all around me.
Yet our relationship never really blossomed due to her interest in a member of our esteemed crew team. The thoughts of “him” gripping his long oar, muscles bulging, body all covered in manly sweat while she looked on from the sidelines, made me ache with jealousy. Alas, the months of freshman year zoomed past me like a dress off a drunken sorority girl at a frat party without Annon looking deep into my eyes and telling me her true feelings of love, lust and desire for my wiry body.
It is only now after I have achieved tremendous fame and critical acclaim as the GWobe’s controversial columnist that Annon has given me the time of day. I was able to sit down with her and put pen to paper.
Rob: “Why did you never talk to me freshman year?”
Annon: “Because you were a loser.”
Rob: “Did you ever think of me in sexual ways.”
Annon: “Ugh, no. Never.”
Rob: “Do you approve of lesbian activity?”
Annon: “To each his own.”
Rob: “Have you ever been involved in lesbian activity?”
Rob: “Is there anything about me that would attract you?”
Annon: “You have a nice aura.”
Rob: “Is a man’s aura measured in a way similar to other attributes of him?”
Annon: “What are you talking about?”
Rob: “Do you give your breasts names? Like Shelley and Kelly, or Sam and Pam?”
Annon: “You have problems. Why do you keep holding your notebook over your crotch? Are you… Oh my God! You are a sick, sick little boy! Get the hell away from me before I call the cops!”
This ended my interview with the apple of my eye – Annon. My chances of eloping with this lovely little lass had evaporated faster than our basketball team’s tournament aspirations.
Before you go on to the challenging crossword puzzle, I would urge you all to come to the corner of 22 and G streets Monday at 2:30 p.m. to see one of my athletic friends walk around in his tighty-whities. He lost a bet on the Utah-UNC game and must now suffer the consequences. Come and enjoy his humiliation. Thank you and God bless.