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Sunday October 9, 1995

Everybody's got it goin' on except the ol' virgin. If I don't go into seclusion on the weekends, then I usually end up looking at new cars at the AutoMall, or going to the Wherehouse to check on the latest CDs. That is what I consider to be excitement. Add to that my daily experience of making coffee with a broken French Press and it's easy to see why I'm ready to lose it. Last night, as I was driving to the AutoMall, I noticed when I stopped at an intersection that most of cars next to me were either groups of people or couples. The groups were probably going partying. The couples were most likely on a date. The guys had their squeezes sitting next to them. They are always kissing each other or something like that when they are waiting for the light to turn green. I tried to imagine myself in that situation. No way. What if I was on a date? Hmmm, let' see ...
 
The Date. I am at a posh restaurant with that incredible gym babe. (You can already tell that this is just an imagined scenario). We are checking out the menu.

"What are you going to order?" asks baby.

"I do not know," I reply, while holding the menu in front of my face. I also refrain from using contractions just like Data on Star Trek: TNG.

"This is a very nice place," coos baby.

"Yes, it is," I say while still holding the menu rigidly and very conspicuously in front of my face.

"So, did you do anything interesting this weekend?" asks baby.

"No," I reply. I reach for my glass of water while still holding the menu rigidly in front of my face with my other hand.
 

Well, you get the picture. Babes don't want to be out with a robot. I was at the library this afternoon, talking with my homey Big John when guess who walked in? Yep. It was that incredible gym babe. All I can say is that I will be glad when I become a monk or LoserNet cancels this program and I disappear forever.

Today is supposed to be a holiday, but when one is unemployed everyday is a holiday. I shouldn't complain. Not many people have this luxury especially at my age and being a virgin. I can come and go as I please. I do what I want when I want. Have you ever heard other people regurgitate this line of crap? I have absolutely nothing to do. And, even if I did, I couldn't afford it. The Bull and I ended up having dinner at CJ's while waiting out four hours until the Midnight Madness at the Wherehouse. Earlier at the gym, both Yalda and Sandra (aerobics instructors) mentioned that Tammy was coming back. Tam was an aerobics instructor at the gym for about a year before moving on to attend "the number one party school in the nation." The Bull was somewhat chagrined at the news. He had attempted to woo her for nine months, but for some reason Tam was not interested in The Bull. I had a feeling that one of the reasons she left was because she had to get away from The Bull. In all seriousness, I thought The Bull was setting himself up for a stalking charge. After all, I should know about these things. I spent a whole Summer homeless because of such an incident. The funny part is that I predicted when Tam would be back and I was only off by a month. The sinister force is apparently working overtime.

Why doesn't someone just award me a PhD already? Doesn't this treatise qualify as a dissertation? It is an ethnographic study, isn't it? Well, maybe not. The Idiots Next Door were at it again this morning, so when I got home at ten tonight, I made sure I was extremely noisy. I really liked it when my modem had to cycle about eighty times before I got a connection. I have it up full blast, of course. Speaking of full blast, BigFoot^tm has his tube up full blast, too. I don't think that the babe that was over this weekend was his squeeze. I think it was his sister. I bet that if any of you materialized here at the Roach Motel right now, you would immediately assume that you were in an insane asylum. I'll tell you, though, one day these fools are going to push me too far, and then I'm gonna come home real late. I'm gonna put on some rap music like RBX and turn it up full blast. Then, I'm gonna sit in the dark and wait for one of these fools like Mr. Idiot to come over and complain. Then, I am gonna take my nine and ... Booyah! [Clown in white smock runs in with hypodermic and administers 2mg IM Haldol to the 41-year-old virgin] Whew! That's much better! I think I need to call it a night.

BigFoot^tm left real early and returned at 9am. He then spent about half-an-hour pacing (yes, pacing) on the linoleum area in the kitchen. He had his aggie boots on. Then, at ten, he began his tube-watching day. As usual, he was playing with the volume control. To show you what kind of nut he is, he turns the volume up full blast during commercials. Why doesn't he just watch the Home Shopping Network? As it is, BigFoot^tm devotes about eight to twelve hours a day to the tube. That's why I know that he couldn't possibly have a babe. He's probably another candidate for the Ross Jeffries School of Skinnin'. You know, that Ross Jeffries is a real comical guy. His basic premise appears to be that women want men to take charge, and thus, they constantly test men to see if they can cut the mustard. Ross does have some good rebuttals to those tests. However, he unabashedly asserts that a man's main priority is to skin'em up. In a way, he is correct on that point, too. The wild thing is about the only motivation that can make a guy do the things he has to do. If a guy was only interested in a platonic relationship, then he would not really care to be tested. Although it is not "correct" to say that sexual attraction is a primary consideration in dating, is it not the real motivating force? I remember when I had a conversation about a year ago with my homey Skip. He had been interested in the weatherman's babe (It's a small world, isn't it?), but felt that she was too much trouble. I remember telling him that the only way to get motivated to ask baby out was to reduce the motivation to its primal level (wild thing). Otherwise, he would end up at a certain point and just give up. If one is merely looking for friendship, then one is certainly going to draw the line at where the testing should end, usually about five minutes into a conversation with a babe. That is why I developed the concept of the eunuch-like behavior. Invisibility insures that I will never be put into any precarious or ambiguous situation. Well, hey! I'm a 41-year-old virgin!

The Bull has been in the Bay Area since yesterday. As an international businessman and financier, he is always on the move. Apparently, he needed to handle some affairs at the Russian Consulate. The only business I have, on the other hand, is the "paperwork" to do in my bathroom. Maybe I should spend some time writing a book on the eunuch-like behavior. Well, hey! If Ross Jeffries can do it, so can I! You know, I remember seeing Ross on one of those talk shows like Jenny Jones. He and some of his students were there as part of the theme on dating. Ross looks like a computer nerd. Of course, he is far better looking than I am. However, the audience, primarily made up of women, barely gave him a chance to speak. That is probably what drove him to start up the Ross Jeffries School of Skinnin', in which Ross now completely concentrates on scoring. Well, at least it pays his rent. I have no idea how I am going to pay my rent after I use up the rest of my last loan. Imagine, I have to pay to live here at the Roach Motel. I have received word that I can begin my monastic residency in December, but I may postpone it until March. Becoming a monk will not free me of my secular obligations like my loans. And, if I remain here for another three months, I will only incur more debt. Maybe I should enroll in the Ross Jeffries School of Skinnin'. Can I get a student loan, you think?

It's a good thing that I'm not superstitious, otherwise I might be afraid to leave the Roach Motel today. Let's face it, though, the sinister force does not do its nefarious deeds only on Friday the 13th. I have already provided ample proof of that. Take last night, for example. The Bull, the Cardinal and myself were in the same Thursday class with the same instructor that we had the incident this Summer involving the prick (gym "owner"). I stepped outside since we are having a heatwave again and that dump doesn't have any air conditioning. The Bull followed me. When we returned, the prick was then disrupting the class and making some stupid announcement concerning gym rules that no one is allowed enter or exit those doors. Coincidentally, trouble only occurs when either The Bull or I are involved. I left shortly after because I could feel the rage welling up inside me. The prick is a real loser. He also lost his franchise with a major gym because of his psychosis. Even Ross Jeffries can't help him. Well, it was another night at the AutoMall. I can't take this kind of excitement. Whew! It's a good thing I have my trusty old computer. While I was logged on, someone who was apparently bored wanted to chat via Unix-Talk. One has to be really bored to want to initiate a chat on-line with the 41-year-old virgin. I found out that it was some babe, who apparently likes quoting script from Ferris Bueller. Maybe I should do a random Unix-Talk and quote script from Taxi Driver like ... "You talkin' to me? You talkin' to me? There's nobody else in the room, so you must be talkin' to me ..."

Well, baby didn't attempt another Unix-Talk session with the ol' virgin tonight. You know, after she dropped the Ferris Bueller line on me, she typed in something like, "What are you doing gorgeous?" Little did she know that she was Unix-Talking to an oversized lavahead. I should have referred her to an IRC chat room. Perhaps that is why I just couldn't bring myself to go into seclusion. I did find myself at the library feigning an attempt to get some work done. I put an end to that charade after an hour and went to the gym. The Bull and the Cardinal were there. That gym babe Kathleen, who both The Bull and the Bishop were once interested in, was also there. The Cardinal took it upon himself to tell her that she had two secret admirers who were too shy to ask her out. She said that she has been seeing some guy now for three weeks. The Cardinal told her that her admirers would be very hurt and lonely. She wanted to know who these admirers were, but I think she already knew. After the gym, The Bull, the Cardinal and I went out to eat. Can you guess what the dinner conversation was about? Yep, babes! Of course, I had nothing to add. You know, I think I can go into seclusion now.

I only went into semi-seclusion today, so I did not go into my closet. I am, however, logged on and will be working on my computer most of the day. I have been reading some other real-life Web chronicles that are similar to this except, of course, that everyone has got it goin' on. You won't find that here. All I got goin' on is the rent (for the Roach Motel, of all places). No wonder it is so easy for me to maintain the stoneface. I have to admit, the face of stone almost cracked today. While I was logged on to my beloved AIX account, I somehow became distracted and wanted to know whether the time changed last night (daylight savings). So, I picked up the phone and started punching in the numbers. Needless to say, I lost my modem connection. I should have been enraged, but it was just too stupid to believe. You won't read about these things in other Web journals. All you will be bombarded with is extravagant lifestyles, parties, babes, and so forth. Partying for me is breaking out the Lime Away and removing those crusty mineral deposits around my faucets. Whoa! I better sit down. Just thinking about that gets me going.

Sheep looking for a shepherd ... that about describes most people. I park my six-four in the section of the Roach Motel parking lot where the spaces are long enough for an RV. I park halfway into the space leaving about fifteen feet in front of me. Soon everyone started parking the same way. They must all think that I know something that they don't. The trouble is I know nothing. I am not the shepherd. I'm a loser. People seem to apply perceptual conformity in other aspects of their lives, too, like with the babe situation. Babes use that power over guys. That's why guys are found doing the stupidest things to impress babes. Guys could have that power over women, but they are too stupid. Take BigFoot^tm, for example. He is probably so amazed by the sheer power of his footsteps as he stomps away upstairs that he has to pinch himself every morning. What a fool! Remember Michael Caine in Shock to the System. Caine realized that he had the power because he was, in reality, the Sorcerer. That sounds like Ross Jeffries! I don't know much about sorcery but I think someone is using voodoo on me and is calling up the sinister force to toy with my sanity once again. About every two days I notice that a dog has been spraying in my six-four. My windows are busted out, so there is no way that I can keep Rover out. Now my six-four smells like an outhouse. I might as well pull the license plates and roll it into the creek already. Sheesh!

I was trying to figure out why I have been talking about babes and the babe situation almost incessantly. I don't have a job. I am in debt beyond belief. I'm almost 42 years old. I'm going nowhere quick. And the punchline is that I don't even know any babes! My whole life now can be reduced to two things ... rap music and going to the gym with my shades on. I have received three new credit cards in the last few months. Can you guess how I am paying for everything? Actually, I have to laugh because I am going to end up in a different kind of monastery. Yep, you guessed it ... prison. Hey! Maybe I can hook up with Charles Keating and he can give me some financial advice! But seriously, let's get back on track now, shall we? I've lamented about the babe situation on one hand. And, on the other hand, I know that babes are not interested in an eunuch like myself. You know, I don't even know how to hold a conversation and that's not just with babes. Throw in the stoneface and you can see that I'm not even up with Larry "Bud" Melman. In fact, I don't even know who I am anymore. I am only going through the motions of existence. I have reviewed my last few (and far between) conversations, and the pattern is the same. I have no opinions or knowledge about the subject matter at hand. My end of the conversation is monosyllabic. If I manage to say more than one word, then it is devoid of content. All this to say that I think I've lost it!

On a lighter note, The Bull has been talking regularly about the Bishop. It seems that a lot of people feel sorry for the Bishop and go out of their way to help him. Even the babes are trying to help him out and set him up with other babes. The Bishop does have a pretty good "lost dog" routine but for some reason The Bull is concerned about this. Then, it dawned on me that it is plausible that The Bull is envious of the Bishop. He has been trying to emulate the Bishop's "lost dog" routine to get the sympathy of the babes. It won't work. Sometimes it makes me wonder why guys complain about all the games when this is the kind of stupidity they come up with.

I had forgotten to get some quarters for laundry after I got out of the gym. So, around eleven, when I decided to actually do my laundry, I discovered that I needed some quarters. So, I get in my six-four. About half-an-hour later I finally find a change machine way across town. That's what happens when you live in a town that closes up at 4:30. I would go to one of those convenience stories, but all I would get is lip unless I buy something. That's the way it is these days. If you don't buy anything, then no service. Cash. Dinero. Cabbage. There's only one color that counts and that color is green. Heck, I can't even afford a costume for Halloween. Maybe I'll go as the invisible man without his bandages on. It's cheap and I don't have to be anywhere. I'll just claim I was there. Well, hey! I'm the invisible man without his bandages on! Sheesh! What am I thinking! I am invisible anyway, at least to babes. I couldn't get to sleep after I finished my laundry. I think it's because I ate a whole chicken for dinner. That's quite a shock to the system that is used to 69-cent cans of Bush's baked beans. Of course, after not getting any sleep, I was privileged to have The Idiots Next Door come alive in their full door-slammin' glory. I think they are agents of the sinister force. Lord have mercy on me!

I finally got a chance to catch up on the news with the Bishop the other night. Apparently, the babe that he was interested in (that I had heard was going out with one of the meatheads) is from Spain. The meathead is not her boyfriend. She actually has a boyfriend back in the old country. The Bishop did mention that she was hinting to him that she wanted someone to go with to Magic Mountain. He did not comply because he wanted to brush up on his Spanish before asking her to go. She never showed up at the gym after that. My question is, why did he need to brush up on his Spanish? I can just see Ross Jeffries shaking his head. It was almost a dull day at the gym until The Bull mentioned to me that a person (who shall remain nameless) told him that several women were afraid of me and have stopped going to the gym. I assume that his statement was in reference to my shades and how I look like some kind of ex-con. This same individual was also responsible for the falling out that occurred a couple of months ago when he alleged that I called the weatherman's babe a prostitute. Apparently, this moron is looking to start up trouble again. I disassociated from this clown way back then and have not even uttered his name. Apparently, he is an agent of the sinister force. The Bull and I ended up at Taco Bell for an exquisite Mexican meal. I had come to discover during the course of our dinner conversation that The Bull has set his sights on one of the aerobics instructors. Unfortunately, he is repeating the same method that failed miserably with Tam, the other aerobics instructor who is due to return to this area in December. The Bull may lose his title once again.

I must have got a bit of food poisoning last night. So, that make four sleepless nights in a row. No wonder I'm delirious. Mr. Idiot has been going through every drawer and cupboard for two hours straight since 7:30am. Why doesn't he take Fido out for a long walk instead? Incidentally, I forgot to mention to fans of Loser that I have seen him around here a few times. Yesterday, he got a ride home from "stooge." I think "stooge" was going to just drop him off but Loser persuaded him to go up to the new "palace." Loser may have gotten some wheels as I saw him unloading groceries last week. But, either he's out a lot (unlikely) or he parks it somewhere else because I've never seen that car again.

The highlight of the week was a notice I got that I have an interview on Monday with the County for a job. It looked like a slam letter since it was computer generated. I got a notice just like this two weeks ago and it was a definite slam letter. I put it aside and opened it (actually I was ripping it apart) just before The Bull and I left the gym. It would be nice to get another job. I would like to be debt-free before becoming a monk. It would also be nice to get a new French Press so I don't have to do the Rube Goldberg thing with it every morning. Maybe I should put some duct tape on it. Can you imagine going over to someone's place to have coffee and seeing the coffee maker held together with duct tape? Did you know that some people think that "duct tape" is spelled "duck tape"? It's true! That's today's trivia tidbit, brought to you by the Ross Jeffries School of Skinnin'.

I'm ready for seclusion but the way things have been going that may be impossible. On a lighter note, I am grateful to the loyal, albeit small, readership of these pages including dce@btw.com, karl@shore.net, and madamex@teleport.com. The Bull, the Bishop, the Cardinal and the 41-year-old virgin thank you. And lastly, the gym returned to its quasi-comical state when I arrived this afternoon and found that Mike was now wearing his shades. He told me that he has decided to organize a movement of sorts. Its purpose remains unclear to me, though. I don't think many people strive to become invisible. Do you?

You know, I better reset my message attribute because I had another babe initiate a Unix-Talk session. What is stupid is that at 1:30am some babe is on her computer doing an Ascii version of phone sex. That other babe did the same thing last week. Fortunately, I am an eunuch so they become frustrated and end the sessions. Nowadays, with babes so eager to call the cops on guys, I just wonder why they have seem to have so much fun getting on-line and teasing all these computer nerds. I wish I had the transcripts from these sessions. One day, these babes are going to get on-line with some psychoNerd who is going to Finger their accounts, look in the phone book and pay them a visit. What are these babes thinking? It seems to validate the thesis that underneath the rhetoric of political correctness there still roars the undercurrents of primal urges.

I dropped in to see my homey Big John last night and got my dose of the tube. Well, hey! It's the season premiere of Homicide, and how could I miss that!? Just kidding! I'm glad I don't own a television. I noticed that I had a hard time focusing on the images, and the microsecond segues were giving me a headache. I did notice how easy it was to go into a trance-like state and become oblivious to conversation.

Speaking of conversation, I was at the gym this afternoon and talking with one of my homeys, Scott, who is in the 40-something age group (my age group). Most of my zany cast here are in their twenties, which probably explains why I don't suffer a poverty of material to write about. Scott, who claims to almost lead a monk-like existence, was talking about some babe. I asked him why he didn't snap into action. He said she was spoken for. I said, "Well, maybe her boyfriend should have a little accident." He laughed and told me, "There would have to be a lot of accidents around here before I stood a chance." I tell you, I think it's time for me to go to the AutoMall already. I'm getting a little tired of seeing the same cars, though. When are the 1996 models coming out? Sheesh!

I decided to try something new today, so I am up at the library at 7pm in the terminal room typing this in. Some clown has reset the terminal to do smooth scroll. It is so smooth that it is extremely slow. But, hey! I'm an eunuch so it doesn't matter! I can wait! I have nowhere to go! That's the way things have been today. Everything has been behind schedule. I did make it to the gym at my usual time, though. I think that one of the off-duty cops who works out there has been keeping his eye on me. Maybe he heard the rumor that I was an ex-con. I did the Gripper machine for about an hour. No wonder he's keeping an eye on me. He probably thought I lost it. I am about the only person who uses the Gripper. In fact, I never even knew about the Gripper until the Cardinal pointed it out a month or so ago. He slammed his palm onto one of the machines and gripped it. He yelled out, "See this! If anyone gives you any problems you can grip his neck and crush it!" His voice was reverberating throughout the gym. A guy who works as a psych tech at the state hospital saw all of this and thought the Cardinal lost it.

By the way, the terminal room is a happenin' place. One of my homeys just came in. He logged on just to check his mail and wondered why since he didn't have a life. Sheesh! Does anyone have a life? Maybe we should get an "I have no life" party going here in the terminal room. Well, there are some advantages to being here in the terminal room. One, I don't have wait 40 minutes to log on by modem. Two, I get to see everyone else logged on and I don't feel like a complete computer nerd. Apparently, a lot of babes are logged on, too. Maybe my Unix-Talk friends are in here. I should look around and see if any of them have the ol' split screen on and are typing in some stupid crap like, "Do you want to ride tonight?" ("Ride what?," "Me, of course.") Yep, you just can't have this kind of fun everyday. I notice that everyone is looking around in here. It reminds me of being downtown at one of the watering holes or, wait! Better yet, it's kind of like the gym! I knew it! I should have worn my shades. You know, even the most mundane situations turn into a gala event when the ol' eunuch is there. You know, even my homey Skip used to hang out in here. Now I see why. It is e-mail mayhem in here. People are coming and going, checking their mail. Some babe just came in and is sitting across from me reading her mail and laughing. Probably a note from stud. Or, maybe she and her friends are exchanging information about stud. Well, it's almost time to put an end to this charade. I'm due back at the Roach Motel to listen to the door-slammin soirée courtesy The Idiots Next Door, and maybe BigFoot^tm is back. He's been gone since Wednesday so my nerves have had a chance to subside. You know, The Idiots are quite a couple. They live such an idyllic life. Their big outing is to go to the supermarket. One look and you can see why. They are young, and they probably have a dream that one day Mr. Idiot will become a successful lawyer and Mrs. Idiot will be elected the first woman president. Then, Fido will not have to be confined all day in the shoebox. They will all move into the White House. Well, I sure hope they get to realize their dreams. I hope Mr. Idiot doesn't get tired of Mrs. Idiot slamming all the doors all the time, and leaves her. Then again, I used to hope that I'd win Lotto. Live from the library terminal room, and I'm on my way outta here now!

What happened to OJ? That's what I want to know. Has everyone forgotten about OJ already? Sheesh! I wish my creditors had the same short memory span. But anyway, we're live again from the library terminal room at 9pm!

Things were off to a slow start again today but, after two pots of coffee, the ol' eunuch was up and running. I went to my interview today. The interviews were running behind schedule so I took a walk around the building. Within a few minutes, alarms were blaring. We were evacuated out of the building because of a bomb scare. It was like a street party outside as hundreds of us were lined up waiting for the okay to go back in. The interview was a fiasco, though. I was somewhat prepared, but as usual when I enter the room something snaps. I just can't play that game. I sounded like someone from Dumb and Dumber. It was ludicrous. I'm sure that everyone including me was wondering why I was even there. So, here I am in the library terminal room. Well, that only serves as a poor segue to the gym segment. I went there right after my interview still dressed in my interview duds and wearing my shades. I wish I wore the shades during the interview. It probably would have helped.

The Bull and the Bishop went to Yalda's step class. I set my step up but decided not to go. After the class, the Bishop came out and asked me if The Bull was out on a date on Friday. I didn't know. Apparently, the Bishop spotted The Bull or someone who looked like The Bull out on a date. He said that he asked The Bull about this but he denied it. I told the Bishop that as far as I knew The Bull was after Coleena, one of the aerobics instructors. Since Monday night football at Big Don's was canceled, I knew The Bull would be taking Coleena's step class using the same rookie maneuver that he used on Tammy. As I walked into the aerobics room, I saw The Bull standing there as Yalda and Coleena were talking. I told Yalda that I was sorry that I missed her class, and Yalda said she was going to do Coleena's class. I asked Coleena what was wrong and she said that she had walking pneumonia. I told her, "Well, I have something that will brighten you up. I heard that you have a secret admirer in your class." She laughed and asked who it was. I didn't tell her but I think she already knew. The Bull followed her out to her car and kept talking to her. I wanted to tell him to let baby go home already. Trying to ask her out when she is sick is just a shade stupid. The Bull is about ready to lose his title again. The Bishop caught a ride with Nicole, the babe that The Bull went out with once. The whole situation is reminiscent of Musical Chairs except I'm always the one left standing.

There is a major flirting session going on in front of me as some babe is helping a guy log on. I think he was trying to log on his AIX account and access the Net by typing in "AOL." Me ... I'm live here at the library terminal room, and I'm on my way outta here! Not a minute too soon, I might add.

You know, I've gotten further and further away from my monastic inclinations. Maybe I shouldn't become a monk. But then I would have to become a janitor. I could become a postal worker, but I would have the tendency to go "postal" as the joke goes. So what happens when a janitor goes berserk? Does he go "janitorial"? It just doesn't sound right. Since we are kind of near the subject of mail, I can segue right into the topic of e-mail. There is always a lot of confusion at the General Delivery e-Mailbox here at LoserNet headquarters (aka the Roach Motel). Topics of discussion range from Recreational Uses of NyQuil to Janitor Goes Berserk! ... well, maybe. One person has been so kind as to write some very interesting and lengthy discourses. It really wasn't until sometime yesterday, though, that for some reason a strange feeling overcame me. I realized that I was reading something from a real person in a faraway place (not that I thought that this person wasn't real). Maybe my mind is ready to go out to lunch, I don't know. But, it's like reading the stuff here. Now if I read it, I know the clown that wrote it is real because that clown is me. But sometimes when one reads something from someone else, it is not always explicitly apparent that there is a real person behind it. I think what struck me was the haunting theme of loneliness that made me rethink and reassess even the foolish words of my own reply. It is as though I have vicariously experienced what I read. Maybe I really have been out to lunch. Maybe the human experience has become one big joke, and I foolishly think that I am going to be the one to deliver the punchline! Who the hell am I kidding? Those of us who live in a kind of fairy tale world of gym babes, pacing neighbors, "duck" tape, and the like never need experience hurt or pain because we are as two-dimensional as a bad sitcom that never goes away. I guess that's what entertainment is about. But, hey! That's why we (me and Ross Jeffries) are here!

I got up earlier than The Idiots this morning. It is amazing at how much door-slammin' goes on. I can only expect this from a dumpy couple who wear matching clothes when they go on their big outing to the supermarket. I should get them a Richard Simmons tape. You know, Richard Simmons is my role model. If there were more guys like Richard Simmons at the gym, I'd feel a lot better. Speaking of the gym, I found out that The Bull was out on a date on Friday night. Apparently, he met baby in one of the Friday morning aerobic classes. That's funny. I thought he told me he wasn't going to the gym on Fridays anymore. It makes sense. He's been through all the primetime babes one way or the other. So, now he needs to go in the mornings and at lunch to see if there is any new talent he can troll. Apparently, the babe he went out with was drop-dead gorgeous (like most of the babes The Bull attracts). But, when they went to baby's place at the end of the evening, she was all over him like a cheap suit. She was pulling his clothes off and trying to get him to stay. The Bull thought she was too aggressive for him so he has to dump her. I told The Bull that he should understand that there are so many babes who are after him that the competition is rough. What else can they do? The problem, I think, is that these babes should not try to usurp The Bull's masculinity. Baby crossed the line. Ironically, with other babes like Tammy and Coleena, The Bull is like a lost dog. Me, I don't get it. I probably should e-mail Ross Jeffries and see if he could do a case study on The Bull. The Bull is planning to date Nicole again and now he wants to try to juggle about three babes at the same time. This man is a legend.

On a lighter note, I ran into Steph and I asked her when she, my homey Tom, and I were going to do coffee to catch up on old times (we all used to work together when I once had a job). Apparently, since Tom is interested in her and the feeling is not mutual, it is going to be hard for us to get together. That's something, isn't it? But, I may help her set up her computer and get her AIX account going. Well, I'm an eunuch and that's what eunuchs are good for. Steph also goes to the gym so she has been a double agent for me at times. Well, hey! You never know when you need a double agent especially when people suspect you are an ex-con! Well, I'm off to the library, but I won't be in the terminal room tonight. I'm going to disappear in the stacks.

I heard that my old buddy Bart was in town last week. I did not get a chance to run into him, however. We go back a long way to the times of the Homer Notebook. Last I heard, he was in Las Vegas. Bart used to go to the gym, too. Seems like everyone in here is somehow tied to the gym! I remember one time when the gym sponsored a Model Mugging class. It was full of babes since these classes are designed for babes. It was open to everyone, so Bart and I decided to watch the festivities. The opening segment was somber and the presenters (all women) were discussing the issue of rape and date rape. It was about this time that the gym "owner" came in making a lot of noise and walking bowlegged while eating a banana. I don't know if there was any symbolism attached to that or not. The demonstrations began. The only other guy in there aside from the gym "owner", Bart and myself was the so-called mugger. He had a lot of protective clothing and a big head mask that made him look like Big Foot (not my neighbor). Actual students of the class were doing the demos, and the audience (babes) was encouraged to cheer and yell "9-1-1" whenever the mugger was immobilized. The mugger, at one point, had to recite some crude lines in order to elicit a sense of realism. The gym "owner" burst out laughing, no doubt because of his own close familiarity with those lines. All the babes turned around and looked. Bart looked at me and said, "I sure hope they (the babes) aren't going to take it out on the two eunuchs (us) in the back." The babes really got into it. Some other guys wandered in, saw this and left immediately. Strange how Ross Jeffries is training guys in the art of seduction (or skinnin') and the babes are learning the art of immobilization. There was also a scenario about what to do when a boyfriend or husband wants to do the wild thing and baby doesn't. Needless to say, it resulted in another immobilization. Then, more cheers and "9-1-1."
 

You can tell that Wednesdays are slow for the ol' eunuch. I wonder if I'll see Naomi today. She was in a class I took over a year ago. I remember when I went to see the professor because he wanted to talk to me about publishing. Somewhere in the discussion, he asked if I had a babe. I said no. "So, what do you think about Naomi?" he asked. I told him that from what I could tell she was a nice person. I should have told him that I was a monk. So, there I was in the prof's office talking about Naomi for some reason. There's no escaping the babe situation. Coincidentally, I still see baby around these days, and it turns out that she is a nice babe. I bet you thought that I was trying to break out of the ranks, didn't you? Well, hey! I'm an eunuch! Baby talked to me a few times, but as you know the eunuch-like behavior does not allow me to respond with sentences longer than one word. She would have been better off trying to talk to a Coke machine! And in true Willard Scott fashion, I'd like to thank etm1@cornell.edu for writing in!

"So, what do you think about Naomi?" he asked.

Well, it almost the end of the month, and it's about time I rehearse my schpiel for my creditors ... "Well, yes, I know that I haven't made a single payment on that $30,000 loan but I'm going through a bereavement." My bereavement is the fact that I have to pay to live here at the Roach Motel. BigFoot^tm finally came back, but he has been very quiet. No stomping around. No tube-watching. Has he got a bout of the flu or what?

I haven't seen the Cardinal or Matt at the gym now for over a week either. What is going on? You know, that Matt is something. A while back, Matt used to always find some babe to be his workout partner. Now Matt is a married man, mind you, but his whole purpose, he told me, was to help set up the babes. I remember two Summers ago, Matt was working out with a babe named Amy. We all ended up taking the step class, and after class, Matt told me that he was going to have a get together at his place. I asked who was going to be there. Anybody that wants to come, he said. So I arrived fashionably late, yet I was the only one there (Matt's wife was on a vacation for a week). So, I got a tour of the palatial manor, and then I ended up chopping the vegetables for the salad. I began to wonder what was going on and asked him again about who was coming. Just then, the doorbell rang. It was Amy and her roommate. Then, it dawned on me exactly what was going on. Matt gave Darcy a tour of the palatial manor and Amy stayed and talked to me while I was chopping the vegetables. As I was chopping away, I happened to look up at Amy and saw those blue eyes along with her long, brunette hair. She was all dolled up. I quickly went into my prototype version of the eunuch-like behavior (I did not have it down to a science like I do today). I almost chopped a finger off with the knife I was using. Later, Matt was trying to give me some dating pointers. I told him that I was a monk. It was pretty obvious by now what he was up to. But, you know, that Amy was a nice babe and she was a real babe. Whew! She moved out of the area, but she has visited a few times. Yep, after that I decided I'm going to be Matt's boy. In life, you have to be somebody's boy. What I really want to be is the Seinfeld of the Web. I don't think it's working, though. I'm not even close to being the Paul Schaffer of the Web. Woe is me!

I got my rejection note from the Pocket Protector Group (PPG) over at the County. It said that my "rating by a competitive review board (Pocket Protector Group) was below the required standard." Baaha! Ha! Ha! Give me a break! Those three fossils couldn't fight their way out of a wet paper bag! Sometimes I wish I was somebody. Then, I would go over to those idiots in the Pocket Protector Group and have them shine my shoes. Jees!

No earth-shaking events at the gym today, although both the Cardinal and Matt were there. The Cardinal has claimed that he is switching over to the other gym in town. Matt said that if that's true, he's going, too. I'm Matt's boy, so I have to go. All I know is that it's a good thing I didn't waste my time sending out thank you letters to the Pocket Protector Group (PPG). I should thank those fools personally by unloading the clip in my nine!

The Santa Anas were blowing again last night and the temperature was fairly warm. It could be the beginning of another heat wave. As I was walking to the library last night and enjoying the weather, I noticed a wanted poster on one of the boards. I looked at it carefully and realized that there was a manhunt in progress for a rapist. What was most shocking was that the crummy composite drawing looked exactly like me! No wonder those cops have been keeping their eye on me at the gym. What is even worse is that the suspect is considered dangerous. And, you know these overzealous cops are just itching for some action. If I disappear from here, you can only guess what will happen. Let's see now ...

The Interrogation. I am taken downtown and given the Rodney King "Twenty-One Baton" welcome. Then, I am thrown in Interrogation. Two cops come in. Both look like they watch Homicide religiously. Only one does the talking.
 

"Why did you do it?" he bellows.

"I didn't do anything," I reply.

"WE know you did it. YOU know you did it. So save us all the trouble and confess," he says, feigning logic.

"How many times do I have to tell you. I didn't do it. I'm a monk," I retort.

(Lots of laughter) "You don't look like a monk to me. Say ... what's with those sunglasses anyway?" he mutters while stroking his chin.

"I give up," I say as I throw my hands in the air.

"That's it! We have a confession! Book'em Danno!"

"Say what? Hey, wait a minute ..."


Fortunately, nothing has happened yet. You know what's responsible for this. Yep, it's the sinister force! Once again, it is toying with the sanity of the ol' eunuch! I may have to get a disguise kit. It's a good thing I saw The Fugitive twice! I went to the gym later, but was in no mood to work out. It just turned into a social hour. Everyone got a laugh out of my possible upcoming fugitive role. I told them I was looking in advance for someone to post bail for me. It is a funny situation, but I have a very odd feeling that the impossible might happen. Call it intuition or whatever, but it's a strong feeling. I just need to maintain a low profile for a while. And, thanks to pmack@shore.net for writing in!

The manhunt continues for my clone. It seems that there were two separate incidents, and the town is canvassed with two different wanted posters. Oddly, the second composite did not look like my clone. Doesn't this remind you of that Star Trek: TNG episode in which Data discovered he had a twin brother, Lor (I call him Evil Data)? Well, now there's me ... Eunuch, and there's my clone ... Evil Eunuch. What's worse is that Halloween is just around the coroner. I just misspelled "corner" as "coroner"! Is that an omen or what? Evil Eunuch would have a field day! That does it! I have to launch my own manhunt. Jees!

My homey Tom and I ended up at Starbuck's last night. He mentioned that the weatherman's babe is now engaged. Evidently the weatherman made the announcement on the morning news this week. (Wasn't she engaged to another guy earlier this year?) I wonder if The Bull knows about this. Well, The Bull will have his hands full because Tam is coming back. He says he "hates" her, but when he sees Tam he will be the proverbial bull charging to the slaughter. Well, another Saturday night is here and the ol' planner is jam-packed with activities. You know, 41-year-old virgins are in demand in the local social circles! Let's see ... AutoMall ... Wherehouse ... Barnes & Noble. Decisions, decisions. Man, I got it goin' on! For the life of me, I just don't know how I pack it all into one day. You know what I mean? I think I should just go ahead and schedule a lobotomy already.

The '96 models are not in yet! Just kidding! No, I was not at the AutoMall, although it is a great place for eunuchs to hang out (all the neighbors will think you got it goin' on because you're not home, and no one will see you at the AutoMall so no one knows where you were). I ended up hanging out at the Hermitage with my homey Manuel. We got to see a great Ali Bijan B-movie ("B" as in babes) on Cinemax. It was so great that I can't remember the title. If I wasn't going to become a monk, I think I would produce these kinds of B-movies. All there is to these movies is a bunch of babes running around in their birthday suits (although Ali tried to put some whack plot in there). I say cut out the plot completely. These are movies for guys with no life. They don't want to see some nonsense about drug smuggling acted out poorly, I might add, by Ali and some of his friends. They want to see babes in their birthday suits! My interests are strictly business. Well, hey! I'm an eunuch! I asked Manuel what kind of costume he was going to wear for Halloween. "I'm going as myself," he replied. "What kind of costume is that?" I asked. "Can't you tell? I'm going as a hermit."

The highlight of today was ironing. Yes, ironing. I do that like once every year, coincidentally about the number of times I get an interview. Ironing is a very frustrating experience for an eunuch. I think my answer to that will be to purchase one of those 1970s double-knit leisure suits. At least when I get rejected, I can blame it on the suit. I decided not to go to the gym today. I think that place is straining my brain. I haven't done any of the aerobics classes for almost two weeks. All I have been doing is the meathead stuff. It's going to be real fun when I start up again next week. Can you imagine the pain I will be in? Speaking of the gym, one of the guys told me that there was a former monk that went there for a while. Apparently, he retired from his monastic duties, joined the gym, and went babe crazy. He eventually found a babe and no one has seen him since. The moral of the story ... don't watch too many Ali Bijan B-movies!

It's too bad I don't need to paint my little shoebox here at the Roach Motel, because then I could sit and watch the paint dry. Of course, any derived spiritual gratification would be offset by the door-slammin' soirée courtesy The Idiots Next Door. It makes me wonder where they met (probably in the food section at CostCo). It also makes me miss Loser. You know, I saw Loser the other day taking out his trash. He looked a little peaked. He has also gained a little weight. I bet it's the babe situation. I think he's realized that not even pacing can help alleviate the babe situation. I wonder if Loser is going out Trick or Treatin' tomorrow. Sheesh! I still haven't located a monk robe. What is the ol' virgin going to do? You know, I haven't gone Trick or Treatin' since the days of the Homer Notebook. I dressed up as Anton Jackson, the drunk, homeless guy on In Living Color. I even made a replica of that stupid jar Anton carried around. I gave the gym a laugh by going to the aerobics class in costume. Alas, I should have kept that outfit (and the jar) to use everyday.

I had another Unix-Talk session with a babe at 12:30am. She is the third babe to initiate that with the ol' eunuch on the cluster. She started off with the usual Ascii phone sex. She asked if I wanted to go over to her place for a "fun time." I asked how she could be sure I wasn't that psycho clone of mine, Evil Eunuch. Then, she told me that one of the victims was her neighbor. For the life of me, none of this made sense. Her neighbor was viciously attacked by my clone, and now she is on the computer Unix-Talking sex! I really don't know if some of these people can distinguish between fantasy and reality. Speaking of reality, there appears to be a lot of activity in some of the other e-journals on the Web. Is it ratings week already? Apparently, there was a hot e-mail romance with the long-awaited meeting of the e-mail lovebirds occurring this past weekend, which naturally resulted in consummated passion. What else could you expect from e-journals of people who have a life? You won't find that here at LoserNet! We are committed to real people, people with no life, and there are a lot of us out there!

No costume, no Trick or Treatin', no candy, no parties, no excitement, no fun, and no life. That about sums up the big Sinister Force Day festivities here at the Roach Motel. Over in the Roach Motel East and the Bottoms, that's another story. There are actual signs of sentient life. Here at the Roach Motel ... well, you already know the quality of people that comprise the inmates, of which I am one. I doubt that The Idiots are going out Trick or Treatin'. If they were, what would they go as? Maybe they could go as his and her matching refrigerators. I should have invited all my fellow inmates over. Then, we could sit in a circle around my modem and watch the LEDs flash while I download some files. Whoa! I don't know if they could stand that much excitement! I know I couldn't! Maybe that's not such a good idea. Hmmmm. Well, I could take the suggestion from matth@eskimo.com and change "an eunuch" to "a eunuch" in all of these files. You know, when one is a 41-year-old virgin, the sky's the limit when it comes to fun activities. I could cut up some plastic bags and put them over my head. Just kidding! I can take the plastic and some "duck" tape and affix the plastic where my windows used to be on my six-four. Well, hey! The rainy season is just around the corner! Let me not forget to mention that the Sinister Force Day festivities commenced last night when that babe from the other night initiated another Unix-Talk session with the ol' eunuch. Baby wanted to know how old the ol' virgin was. Does it matter? Babes seem to get really flustered, though, if they don't get an answer. I remember that I had a similar discussion with Clare from the Homer Notebook days ...

Scenario: We were at the 7-11, having a nice, cool beverage. We rode our bikes to the gym to work out, and were now on our way home. We sat outside on the ledge below the windows. We were talking about something mundane when out of the blue ...
 

"How old are you?"

"Why do you want to know?" I said, answering a question with a question.

"I just want to know," she replied.

"Why do you need to know that?" I asked.

"Oh. No reason. So, how old are you?" she asked again.

"I'm old enough to drive," I replied.

"You're not going to tell me, are you? Why is this such a big deal?" she asked rhetorically, sounding perturbed.

"Okay. Okay. I'm a 41-year-old virgin."
 

That was four years ago. Actually, I thought it was a great answer. Little did I know that it would be the source of inspiration for this piece of work. I told my homey (then one of my roommates) Skip about that conversation and he was rolling on the floor. Apparently, babes don't find much humor in that, though. Well, the festivities continue on this Sinister Force Day. A day like today requires a special meal. So, in celebration, I had to break out the larger $1.09 can of Bush's baked beans. It was literally a feast! To top it all off, I walked down to that hub of activity, Thrifty Drugs, and bought a double-scoop ice cream cone. Am I livin' large or what? All around me were people with a life, dressed up in their costumes and going partying. That only means one thing! Yep, tonight is a good night for me to take the K-Mart all-in-one apart and clean the dust out of it. Maybe I should clean my razor, too. If I keep coming up with this kind of excitement, then someone is going to have to prescribe some Demerol for me. Well, that's it for the pathetic Sinister Force Day special! Whew!

Continue the adventure now ... move on to November!

The Return of the 41-Year-Old Virgin

Starring
41-Year-Old Virgin ... Tralfaz
The Bull ... Himself
The Bishop ... Himself
The Cardinal ... Himself
And a cast of thousands.

Original Soundtrack by Foolboy-G
Presented by 41-Year-Old Virgin/Partners in association with JumpStart Productions.

© Copyright 1995 by the 41-Year-Old Virgin.
LoserNet^tm Love It, or Lose It.