Love is in the air, you can just sense it.

Now for said story that got me suspended.

Back in High School, I had a stalker. Oh that was a fantastic occasion. That's really something, isn't it? I mean initially when somebody's nursing a crush on you, it's flattering, even a bit endearing. Then you're walking around the corner and know somebody's following you, yet when you turn around there's a cat pissing on a dumpster and you don't see a damn thing of them. People can be really shy. I never really understood it that much. Then again, I never really understood much of how I acted growing up, and I was an incredibly shy boy. I don't think most people would expect that the vulgar irate loose cannon talking about breast metaphors in Creative Writing actually was an extremely quiet and self-conscious boy for most of his life growing up.

Wait this was about what now? Oh right, a stalker. Have you ever been in love, children? If you haven't, then you're emotionally dead on the inside. I don't know what irradicated that emotion lurking within that reticent husk of a human being you call "you", but everybody has been in love. EVERYBODY. DON'T FUCKING QUESTION IT. According to a bullshit statistic I've gathered over the years from random sources including your mother, I believe the average human being falls in love about twelve times a day. Why twelve? I don't fucking know, don't question the statistics. But the simple fact is that we're naturally-loving creatures. Wait? Some of us call it lust? Don't split hairs, you asshole. I'm trying to be subjective here.

I think how men and women choose to express their love are of different means, but we both love the same amount. Men are big, burlesque manly men with swaggering libidos and enough of a sex drive that if we could find a way to convert semen into an alternative fuel then cars would never be able to stop running. Being brutes, men express their love physically. This often means sexing. Or if you're Italian or Irish, beating your wife and children. Men have no need for trifle things like emotions. They're nothing but burdens when we have to work. You know why men rule the world? Because they don't bleed their hearts or vaginas over a problem, and just fucking fix it. This is the one of many ways why men are superior to women. That, and since women pretty much tend to an open wound constantly that leads to a myriad of problems... wait this was about love, right? Right. Back to the topic.

Women are emotional creatures. They want to feel, and they want to cherish, and they want to nurture, and they want to be open, and they want to be together, and yet the only emotion they seem to get across to men is being a bitch. You know what emotion women provoke out of men? Exasperation. Now see, this is a natural act of vengeance against the woman, as women don't enjoy sex and often deny the man of it as often as possible. This is scientific fact; couples that are grinding their holy salami and beef curtains together more often are usually happier in the long run. Or any other colorful metaphor for intercourse involving food you want to throw in there. This is why the holy grail of a man's thought process rests behind the sandwich, the most arousing of all food implementations. Two soft, moist, sensuous, fluffy pieces meant to absorb and be soaked in the delicious juices of that tender, hot juicy beef is enough to make a man pull his zipper open without his hands.

I think in today's society the proper way to court a woman has been completely mixed as of late. In some instances people think chivalry is dead, all women are whores and you can pretty much have her riding you like a horse and rupturing that hymen even further by just giving her the wink and nod. Wait, horseback riding doing that is a myth? Good lord, I need to get myself checked then; those women lied to me. While some believe that most women still want the traditional manners of courtship, which in a reversal of fortune the man is suppose to bend over backwards for the cunt, tend to her every whim and relinquish his testicles in the process. You won't be needing those anymore. She'll give them back to you when she wants something, then she'll take them away again after she lets you play pocket pool or juggle and fiddle around with them for a while.

This is why I encourage homosexuality. For one, a brilliant friend of mine brought up how it's painlessly thinning the population. Secondly, because lesbians are God's gift to pornography. Although I don't buy into the whole "bisexual" bullshit. Bisexuals are either indecisive on who to sleep with, or greedy and thus will sleep with anyone. And it's no coincidence that more women are bisexual than men are. Imagine that. I could never be gay though. Sorry folks, I just don't like the prospect of any part of any man going into a place that's designed to push out body waste. This of course rules out any women interested in anal sex, but thankfully those are largely limited to the African-American community and I'm not a fan of dark chocolate.

I think somewhere in here I mentioned a stalker. Oh right, at the beginning. I never did mention how that resolved itself, did I? Well the fact is that I never rolled with it, nor did I find out who it was. Random notes and presents are nice, but that person really needed to man up, grow a pair and just be erect... err... direct. I'm not gay, you get my point. I don't think there's anything more painful than nursing a crush. I think most of us know that; and after spilling my guts to a few people I can safely say that the 30 seconds of grueling agony and humiliation of being shot down and the days preceding it aren't nearly as bad as constantly stomaching that pathetic feeling without any god-damn closure. Hell, that's one thing you can take solace in, and it's the closure. At least when it's done and you know you don't have a shot, you can pick things back up and move the fuck on to greener pastures.

I don't care if it was that fat chick with the acne and glasses or if it was Christina with those glorious 15-year old 34D knockers, stalking is not the way to go. Hell, I would've rather had been raped instead of stalked. At least I would know who it was and I would've gotten closure on the situation. And either I would enjoy it enough to continue with the relationship and a newfound love for sadomasochism, or that restraining order would've been upgraded to a felony.

And maybe the emotional trauma of being restrained and deflowered would've blunted my sex drive and killed those random erections I got during class. Those things were always a nuisance, weren't they?