Oh yea, that's right, no woman can resist my natural charms. I'm like a modern day Pide Piper, but instead of rats it's hot chicks. I'm like the Bill Gates of tail--I have so much I don't know what to do with it all. Men of this Planet: Put down your puny aphrodisiacs and step out of your hot rods. Abandon your romantic comedies and miniature golf outings. For I am the one about whom the prophesies speak: The Mack of All Daddies, the Super of all Flies, the Don of all Juans, and the bearer of the almighty Pimp Juice. Your puny attempts at courting the women of Earth will fail in the shadow of my tremendously huge... mojo. Bow down before me, your new master!

And what makes me so certain of this proclamation? How can I be so confident in my position as the quintessential specimen of manhood? Why, a simply look at my Inbox reveals all:

Phoebe is doing her gender a favor by offering me older girls, "most who are looking for more than friends." It just so happens I like older women, Phoebe, send them my way!

Christy Ashley must have heard tell of my complete and total awesomeness cause she tracked me down to tell me she's "a girl who just made her own website :)" Alot [sic] of the times [sic] she feel [sic] not that greate [sic] because everyone tries to take adventage [sic] of her one way or another. Girlfriend toled [sic] her to finally make a site about herself and what she does everyday. She apparently wants to share her life experience with me. Well, Miss Ashley, I can't wait to meet you. Or, rather, I cant weight to meete u. You were awesome on Cheers, by the way (and pretty good in Star Trek II).

caitlyn, a charming girl who swore off capital letters when she was 16, just had to write to inform me of the web address at which I can reach her. Well, actually, it's just an IP--I guess she can't afford a domain name, let alone clothes--and, apparently she misses me. caitlyn, I'm touched. I mean, I've never met you or talked to you, but clearly you know me well enough to feel a sense of loss over my absence. I'll try to write more often. Also, dear, you only need to include my e-mail address in the to line once, you don't have to write it fifteen times and affix a bunch of numbers to the end of it, I'm getting your mail just fine.

Florine took time away from her busy job as a dental hygienist just to write and tell me about the, and I'm not exaggerating here, thousands of ladies "in need to get banged". Wow, I mean, I'm a super stud, but that's an awfully tall order. Perhaps the rumors you've heard about me, Florine (if that is your real name), have been exaggerated. Why don't we weed out a few hundred of those who are not as desperately in need to get banged, and we'll get started with the rest, ohh, let's say Saturday. No, wait, Saturday's no good I have to regrout my tub, how about Sunday, around six-ish?

The most telling evidence of my inexplicable power over women, however, comes from Aloysius. Yea, I'm thinking the same thing as you: The Aloysius Gonzaga, the one who said "He who wishes to love God does not truly love Him if he has not an ardent and constant desire to suffer for His sake"? Well, no, that's a dude, so it couldn't be him, but man if it was, who-wee! Anyway, Miss Aloysius wrote me back regarding, well, Ñåêðåòíûå áàçû äàííûõ. I mean, I don't remember writing her about Ñåêðåòíûå áàçû äàííûõ, but, I dunno, I could have been drunk, and it does sound like something I'd say. She can't get enough of me, as evident in her letter (this is just an excerpt, mind you): Áàçà äàííûõ «Òàìîæíÿ — 2004» ñîäåðæèò ïîëíóþ è ïîäðîáíóþ èíôîðìàöèþ î ïîêóïàòåëå, ïîñòàâùèêå, íîìåðå ÃÒÄ, îïèñàíèþ òîâàðà, êîäå òîâàðà ïî ÒÍ ÂÝÄ, êîëè÷åñòâå, ñòîèìîñòè, äàòå ñäåëêè, áàíêàõ, îáñëóæèâàþùèõ ñäåëêó, òàìîæåííîì òåðìèíàëå è ò.ä.  ïîñëåäíåé âåðñèè äîáàâëåí ïîèñê ïî íîìåðó ÃÒÄ, óëó÷øåí èíòåðôåéñ è ïîèñêîâûå âîçìîæíîñòè, âñå ÷àñòè îáúåäèíåíû â îäíó. Óäîáíûé èíòåðôåéñ, ïîçâîëÿåò áûñòðî è ëåãêî ïîëó÷àòü ðàçëè÷íûå îò÷åòû ïî êëèåíòàì áàíêà, ïî ýêñïîðòåðàì-èìïîðòåðàì çàäàííîãî íàèìåíîâàíèÿ òîâàðà. Äîñòóïíû âñå ïîëÿ ÃÒÄ! Ïðåäóñìîòðåíà âîçìîæíîñòü ïîëó÷åíèÿ îò÷åòîâ â ôîðìàòå MS Exel. Wow, that came out of left field! Aloysius, I gotta be honest with you, I don't remember 2004 all that well. It was kind of a blur. Whatever it is you and me did with Microsoft <ahem> Exel, well, I mean it was really great--you were really great--but, that was months ago and I've moved on. Hopefully I haven't hurt you too badly, but by the length and vulgarity of your e-mail, it seemed like maybe you were kinda pissed. I would be too if my alphabet consisted of nothing below ASCII 192 (For you non-nerds out there, replace that joke with: I would be too if I spoke the written equivalent of a brain hemorrhage. (For you non-nerd simpletons out there, replace that joke with: YOU WRITE FUNNY TALK! (For the non-nerd, non-homo sapien constituent: ooh ooh AHH AHH AHH!)))).

There is one gal I can't quite figure out, though. She's different from the rest, and maybe that's why I'm so attracted to her. She doesn't appear to be horny or waiting just for me, nor is she eager to show me some pictures her old boyfriend snapped before they broke up. She isn't concerned with my manhood (some of the more fickle gals out there insist on me trying out the herbal Viagra, or at least a penis pump, to which I must vehemently reply: nein!) Her name is Jennifer A. Clark, and she is terribly worried about my finances. Not only does she want me to save on ink cartridges, Turbo Tax, and Adobe Photoshop, she has recently been harping on my need to refinance my mortgage. Look sister, Kato don't refinance nothin'! That, and I live in an apartment. Can you mortgage a dying houseplant?

So, I guess maybe not all the ladies love me. Still, clearly the majority do. All you guys out there might as well give up, although you may have a chance with Wholesale Price gal. Just don't tell her what you pay for car insurance.

Oh, and ladies: Sunday, 6 o'clock, my place. Coffee will be served afterward. Those not "in need to get banged" need not apply.

Tags: Internet and Computers, Humor, Spam