Living on a delay

Matt/Walking Pharmacy--WOW, I feel for you man; I really hope you make it through o.k. I think I get your state of mind b/c--don't know if you're aware of this--but you dropped an email a little while ago that read the following: "You smell....Matt Vancleve [phone #]...." And _that was it_ I didn't bother to reply because, aside from the fact that I had no idea what to do w/ it, it seemed a little like the Jacksonville version of toe-tapping in a Minnesota airport men's room. But I think I get it now. And I'm sorry. Well, congratulations, ya'll win my less-than-amusing, empty-headed bull[ ]. Case-in-point (The First): I was listening to the oldies station the other day when I had a moment of self-realization: I saw myself playing crocodile rock on the piano, and droves of ladies were coming to me from all directions. Droves. That should tell you about what logic I run under (O Naturale, Mr. VanCleve). (The Second): I don't know if I'll ever get married, but somehow I've already seen what it's like. Take the following dialogue: (Scene: at bed time, a young man, no longer an up-and-comer but still w/ some pluck, just looking for a little business time [2 min max], approaches his apparently-asleep yet some how visibly dissatisfied wife) --Oh, honey, are you asleep? I thought we could do something special tonight. --[groggy] Let me guess, you wanna [ ] me in the shower again? --I thought you liked that. --I did...the first 50 times. God, I'm so _BORED_. Just let me go to sleep. --[speechless] ...alright, you know what, [ ] it, I'm going out for a beer. --If you wanna see my VJ again, you'll bring back a new [ ]. And scene .... So...you guys wanna cut me, right? 2-headed blogging a better route? Reckon so? Living proof that the university does not make the man.