Every time I meet a decent woman she’s somebody’s boyfriend, or a friend’s recent ex or sister or hot mom, or she’s way into Star Trek, or she likes to go bowling. Or she’s a lesbian and doesn’t know it, or she’s a vegan, she doesn’t drink, she’s not old enough to buy cigarettes, she used to be a man, or she only dates musicians, she drives an eighteen wheeler, she drinks her own urine as some sort of spiritual ritual, she goes sky-diving naked, or she doesn’t have freckles, or she’s a cyclops, or she’s a ghost. Maybe she’s into pyronecrobestiality, or she eats peanut butter right from the jar, or she’s a republican, or she’s one of Captain Planet’s Planeteers, or she’s afraid of sex, or she wishes I were dead, or she smokes opium every day, or she hates cartoons, or she’s into sports or worst yet. She’s religious.
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