From: Spike (spike66@comcast.net)
Date: Sat Jul 05 2003 - 20:46:02 MDT
From: Karen Rand Smigrodzki
... I was also thinking that the effect of riding a motorcycle might
make your hormonal levels change...(It makes me wonder if the guys in
the late 1800's had the same effect riding in their horseless
carriages.)...
Karen, here is an insight from my own misspent youth.
Knowing that motorcycles caused my own raging hormones
to rise to even more mind-numbing heights, I sought to
discover what activity would have a similar effect on
women, in order to be present when those activities
were taking place. I asked my friend, who was well known
to understand the mysteries of the female of the species.
He advised I attend horse related events, and observe
closely the powerful effect these strong and gentle beasts
had on women.
I did so, observing carefully the horses and the
way they managed to capture the hearts of their
riders. I got a date with a girl I knew to be a
horse lover. Foregoing the usual (and proven
unreliable) technique of actual conversation, I
substituted neighing and whinneying, with the
occasional B-B-B-B-B-B-B flappy lips thing that
horses often do for no apparent reason. My date
excused herself to the powder room, and never
returned. I learned she had changed her phone
number and moved away leaving no forwarding address.
Note to self: No horse lips.
Reported back to my friend who conceded that my
technique would only have worked had I shared
certain physical characteristics with horses.
Of course *any* technique would have worked, had
that been the case, which I assured him it was not.
He suggested that perhaps I was emulating the wrong
beast, that in fact the aarvark was the lifeform
of choice. "You wait for just the right moment,"
says he, "Then you go down on the old anthill.
Works like magic."
So I got a new date. The conversation was on the
topic of the life cycle and habits of the aardvark.
Things started going well. Verrrry well, if you
catch my drift. (Wink) So, just at the critical
moment, I went down, poked my snoot in the anthill.
The ensuing commotion ensured me it was having the
desired effect.
I was mistaken, however, for upon looking up I
found that again my date had fled. The commotion
was half a dozen passers-by, pointing and inquiring
as to the exact nature of my major malfunction. My
date requested a court order to keep me at bay,
and just for good measure had entered the Federal
witness protection program. Just as well, for it
took several days for the swelling to subside on my
nose from all the bites from the angry ants, who
had lived many generations without having been
attacked by an aardvark. Note to self: no aarvarks.
I began to doubt the advise of my friend, and
decided to emulate a different creature on my
next date: an amoeba, with money. That worked.
She married me.
spike
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