Reasons number 67 and 82 why I don’t have a girlfriend

By Drew Millard

Today’s is a double-faceted column, concerning two seemingly unrelated thoughts, but I think that in conjunction with each other, they adequately explain why I have no girlfriend.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to Barnes and Noble to buy a book, and spent 20 minutes internally debating which book to buy, only to decide to save my money for a later date. One week later, I got a speeding ticket, and that 20 dollars I saved by not buying a book could now be spent paying back the government of South Carolina. I’m almost one hundred percent sure that I have vaguely psychic powers, in that I can tell whether I should do something or not, only to find out why I should or should not have done it later.

I stand by this ability, regardless of any situation that may arise, regardless of whether my dull ESP presents me with a favorable situation or not, and regardless of the actual reliability of these semi-psychic powers. They just make me special. I know not whether I shall use them for good or evil, but I’m leaning towards evil, as the bad guy is always cooler than the hero, except when the hero is Sean Connery.

Even when everything seems bleak, my semi-psychic powers tell me what to do, though I know not why they tell their weird little thoughts. Perhaps it’s like that one John Travolta movie where he’s a psychic, but then he dies at the end, and everybody cries. But I hope not.

I was once a great man. I was once proud. I once had hair on the top of my head. If you noticed, the picture that accompanies these columns has recently changed, and what was once a full-on mop-top has been replaced by the shortest of buzzcuts. This was not a stylistic choice on my part.

My hair was cut as part of a necessary retooling that my life required, because I need to get a job, and people with hair that looks like it belongs in a rock band don’t land jobs very easily. Rest assured, I’m never getting a haircut again, and hopefully, soon, I shall replace that picture with another of me and my full mane of head-fur.

My beautifully coiffed hair represented all that was jobless and free. With it, I had Sampson-esque strength: I could lift pillars, I could construct houses with my own bare hands, I could take Chuck Norris in a fight… but now, I am nothing. Nothing, I say! I’m just a sarcastic little kid with broken dreams and a cold head.

So you see? This is why I don’t have a girlfriend.

In review, I’m indecisive, obsessive about my hair, and I think I have secret powers.
If you as a female were also looking for more reasons not to date me, I also own a pair of genuine longhorns that hang above my bed, have problems with commitment, do not drive, and own a shirt with some Spanish written on it that translates into, “Where are my pants?”

So yeah. Take a number.