Tales of an intrepid alter ego

We’re all well aware of the nightmare women have to go through once a month. If there’s a God, that was just evil of him. I can imagine that moment. “Okay, so far we’ve got compassionate, caring, loving, and dedicated, besides doing most of the house chores and cooking, yeah, cooking. What more should I have women do?” -God asked one cherubim, who was holding a bottle of Merlot, after a long day’s work. The little bodiless creature, pissed drunk as a little head with wings can be after a bottle of red wine replied: “I don’t know for sure, but we sure want more of this red stuff.” “Hmm, red stuff, eh? I’ll see if we can work something out”, the Lord answered.

In retaliation, women decided to get pissy right before that happened and turn into evil bitches. Of course, how else do you think cherubims became extinct? Women drove them crazy to death with mood swings and constant moving of furniture! But lately, I’m starting to think men aren’t all that different in that sense, after all.

You know men constantly think of sex. That’s a given. But trust you me, sometimes, it’s overwhelming. It gets to a point were all you see is boobs and butts walking around in the street. Hormones play all sorts of tricks on me, during a month. Or there’ll be days where those Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo adds get me crying like a little girl. And I can’t stop! Sometimes, I hate everything and everyone, and then, it starts all over again. And I didn’t use to be like this ten years ago. Back then the thinking of sex part was predominant. I don’t know if it’s the constant exposure to cellular phone interference, the endless amounts of monosodic glutamate (whatever that is) I ingest through noodle soups, or the mid twenties crisis, but I’m begining to think that we have cycles too. It could also be sympathetic mood swinging. You see, I am very attached to the women around me. It’s just that I think that women are ever more interesting than men, intellectually, in average, so I spend more time sharing stuff with them. Plus, they are the only ones that get my jokes right away. I really dread having to explain Adolph in accounting why seeing the dog from Family Guy in a banana costume singing “It’s peanut butter jelly time” makes me laugh. Women just laugh with me, and some are willing to get naked in the process. Couldn’t ask for more.

Maybe this sympathetic PMS just goes away eventually, or one just has to learn to live with it. I just hope it never gets to the point where I know the difference between “with wings”, “maxi”, “slender”, “deodorant” and “mini”.