Roller Coaster Rabbit

I've come up with the logical extension for speed dating. I'll call it speed relationships.

Well, less I've come up with it that it came upon me as we've gone from getting to know you to first date to slumber party to dead shark to dear bunny letters all in the course of three weeks.

That's exhausting under any circumstances and I'm glad to be off that ride. I think I'll save my tickets for the horsey drawn carriages and let somebody else do the bumper cars. For awhile anyway cause, like childbirth, you forget the shitty parts quickly and jump on the ride the next time the prancing pony whizzes by.

Not to mention the cost of the thing. Relationships used to be cheap and easy. Sort of like me. When the hell did home equity loans come into play just to underwrite a Saturday night cuddle? And another thing, if, and it may happen to you, you want to go prepared; well no let up there. Protection, ahem, of the male kind, first line of defense so to speak is about four bucks and two bits for a pack of three. I was always better at division than multiplication: that's more than a buck a fuck! You think that after paying for dinner somebody in the supply chain would give me a break.

Let's face it, this is a basic human need! Like air, water food. And after six months it's a freaking commodity and should follow market pricing.

Try to get an economist to believe that lie.

After six months, we're talking premium pricing at what the market will bear. And it's a bare market.

Well, I'm over it. As Neitzsche said at the Neu Ulm Logical Positivists Dinner Dance, what does not kill me makes me want to box step. Kierkergaard, pass the gravy boat!

So I've been tossed from the apple cart of romance and am lying in the orchard of quiet despair munching on the mackintoshes of loneliness and drinking the water of metaphor that will get me expelled from most writer's clubs.

But as Descartes said just before the mint Jell-0 came out:

"This sucks. Therefore I am."

Bunny on.