Bush Is Wacked, and So Am I

President Bush is ruining my dating life.

. . .

Let's say I meet a guy. Kinda cute in an affable way, with a twinkle in his eye and an accent. He gets me with some sweet talk, and I agree on a date. The guy's charming, pulls out my chair, asks me about my job, and pays the tab. I call my friends and tell them I think I like him. They squeal with delight for me. After a few more dates, I elect to make him my boyfriend. Once he gets that title, things get odd.

He starts picking fights with random guys who check me out. There was this one night which was really terrifying, when these two guys started hitting on me when Affable Guy was in the bathroom. They were ruthless, pulling at my clothes and groping me. A third guy was coming at me until some of his friends headed him off at the pass and pulled the other two guys off me. When Affable Guy came back from the can, he looked dumbstruck as I explained the situation. After ten minutes, he dragged me out of the bar, fuming mad and eerily quiet.

At first, he started beating up Irish guys who hit on me. He'd catch one follicle of a hairy eyeball and then his fists would be flying. It was a couple of drunk Irish tourists who skeezed me out that night at the bar, so I guess it made sense. But shortly after that, he branched out. Italian guys. Latino guys. Middle-Eastern guys. He especially hated those Middle-Eastern guys. When he was calm at home, he'd tell me he was preemptively defending my honor. I told him he should maybe rethink this. He'd roll over and go to sleep and murmur things about his daddy.

Once the assault charges started rolling in, I told him he needed to stop hitting people. But he wouldn't ever say he would. He'd say he'd think about it, that he hoped he could some day stop hitting people preemptively, but while there are guys out there who want to ogle my ass, he can't stop his war on pervs. I said that I have a nice ass, and probably people would always want to look at it. But he said that he couldn't stand for that. I started leaving a diary of his craziness in my desk drawer at work in case I went missing.

Finally, my friends sat Affable Guy down and had an intervention.

"You've got to stop this. You're hurting so many people," my friend Nancy said.

"No sir. Can't let Amy's freedom be limited by the forces of lust."

"But Amy doesn't want you to keep defending her," Barack added. "She can fend for herself with some training. Maybe a self-defense class?"

"I can't leave her abandoned in a time of need. I have to stay the course."

"Maybe you can defend her when she goes to seedy bars until she knows how to knee a guy most efficiently in the groin? Trust me, women can learn that," my friend Bill said with a laugh.

"Stay the course. Not fair to her if I leave. She wants me here."

"No I don't," I interject.

"She needs me here."

"No, actually, I don't. All I need is a locksmith to keep your crazy ass away from me."

Affable Guy finally let out a sigh. "I hope we can reach a common ground, Amy. But I am not going to stop defending you. I can't leave you without financial and personnel support. But I'm open to compromise on how to deal with this impasse."

"You mean, aside from admitting you were wrong to hit all those people?"

"Right."

. . .
It's going to be a tough row for us to hoe, ladies.