He kissed me, and I gripped tight for a ride.  He moved in, took me, and for a single suspended instant, pure unadulterated brilliance shot through my brain:

“HE’S FROM CRAIGSLIST!”

Um.

“ABORT!”

Soon my morals tumbled shockingly farther…

“BOYFRIEND.”

(Blinks.)

“YOUR BOYFRIEND! YYOWZZZAHH!”

After a brute conquering of its compelling, my conscience fell ironically and poorly by the wayside of the exact commonsensical ineptitude that had years earlier disabled my boy-capturing abilities.  All fixed now.

Hi there. Hi!

Situation Analysis:

A fundamentally demonic line divides the realms of Fun and Sagacity.  The ride of Life whizzes you across, sprawls your hair, and even if you could see which side of Fate you were flanking (but no chance) you’d wonder: The Dark Side is which? 

To pucker up and kiss your fated realm — future graveyard of your eternal carcass, which no matter what Truth, holds the Light either way— is to uncover Relativity in all its purposeless graciousness.