I have this friend.
It turns out that she’s hot.
It also turns out that she has a boyfriend, flirts with everyone, and is a founding member of the “I-think-Nupe-is-cute-but-not-in-a-sexual-way-more-like-in-a-harmless-teddy-be ar-way” Club.
She likes to hug me. Like a lot. Like on the order of 10 to 15 times a day. What’s strange is that while she flirts with everyone, she only hugs me. I wish she would stop. I mean, I don’t wish she would stop. But I do. You know? It’s nice to get hugs, especially from hot chicks, but damn, it sucks to get hugs from hot chicks that you can’t have.
So yesterday, I said, “Stop.” (Hammer time ensued briefly, then quickly died down)
And she said, “Why?”
“Because all this hugging is really making me want to have relations with you, and that’s not cool because you have a boyfriend and whatnot.” “Well,” she replied, “that certainly wasn’t my intention.” “Yeah,” I said, “I know. It’s never anyone’s intention.” Then I sulked away softly sobbing to myself. Then I realized that Scrubs was on NBC and everything was gonna be alll riiight…
So, for all you women out there, especially hot women, please recognize the power that you have over weak, penis-minded men like me and most of T.J. Monkey’s (except Bret who is impermeable to feminine wiles). A hug is basically an invitation to start smooching, which is basically an invitation to start dating, which is an invitation to start scrumping, which means you on the road to getting married, having kids, getting a mortgage, and ultimately wasting your life working at some factory in Cleveland at some two-bit job that you would never have taken unless you didn’t get that damn first hug!
So, there. Hugs ruin lives. No more hugging. Unless you can insure that we won’t be getting married. Then hugs are fine.