The Pathetic Adventures of Rory Hornblower

What is love? Baby, don't hurt me. Don't hurt me no more. What is the meaning of love? Nothing, in tennis. How do you know if you are in love? You should hear her scream, "Oh, Kurt! Oh, Kurt!" Where do you find love? Attached to the ends of your forearms. Does anybody love me? [no reply]

Another Valentine's Day, another step closer to sobriety. Namely, the sober realization that I am doomed to spend my life as a bachelor. It's not that I'm not trying. I bust my nuts off every day in search of love, but my libido always dies on me. The Pope has a bigger sex drive than I do.

How pathetic is this? I am a 22 year old virgin with no libido making a living writing puerile sex-filled columns for some loser dot-com. I can legally buy pornography and I willingly (willingly!) choose not to. The pious mock me when it should be the other way around. I get angry thinking about all the time good little church-attending boys and girls waste "spending quality time together" when they could be having shitloads of premarital sex – sex from which that I'll never see the light of day.

People come up to me all the time and ask, "Do you suck cocks?" No, you fucking perverts. I would like to kill the rumors about my sexuality right here, right now. For the umpteenth time, I am not gay, nor am I, as Manuel Torres calls me, "asexual." I am also, contrary to popular belief, not a pedophile. As for the reports of bestiality, I will not confirm or deny anything. Rory "The Warrior" Hornblower likes women…who give anal…and can make buttermilk pancakes. 'Nuf said.

Maybe it's the pick-up lines. I'd like to think that I'm a swinger, that I'm Ricky suave, but my failed attempts at getting phone numbers would have you think otherwise. Where I come from (Boston), it's perfectly okay, even natural, to walk up to a girl and say, "Wanna give me a blow job, bitch?" You just can't do that in Los Angeles. Apparently, they respect women out here, whatever that means. It's a shame, really, for I've had to ditch some of my best pick-up lines from the east coast book: "Is that a vagina in your pants, or are you a man?" | "Say, how old is your mother?" | "Does Joanie love Chachi?"

Every day that inflatable doll in the storage room becomes more and more appealing.

I went on a date the other night with this girl named Britney and boy, was it a disaster. Okay, we were at dinner. I was eating my McRib sandwich and she was throwing up hers. We were talking and she remarked how she was not that innocent and I actually thought I had a chance of getting an erection when, all of a sudden, she told me to hit her. So I hit her…ear. Upon the blow, she jerked her head back, called me "fucking retarded," and told me to hit her one more time. So I hit her again, this time in the stomach, and she fell flat on the floor. Luckily, her breasts were there to cushion the impact of collision. It must have really hurt her though, because she got up and started chewing me out, saying that I drove her crazy and that her loneliness wasn't killing her no more. This from a girl who just minutes earlier had told me that she was born to make me happy. I was seriously panicking now. I didn't know what to do. So I hit her again – right in the kisser. Oops. She went down for the count and the paramedics had to come and take her away. My Britney. Why do the good ones always go comatose? Oh well. I hope my date tomorrow night with this Christina chick works out better. I heard she likes people to come on her, or something like that. • RH

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