I like to think I’m a nice guy. Actually I know I am. I don’t go looking for trouble but somehow it finds me. I could never put my finger on why until a week ago. Putting the pieces together now, it all makes sense. I never forwarded any chain-letter-e-mails. I was the link that broke the chain. While everyone was forwarding on to 10 of their friends, I was hitting the Delete key. I wish I knew then. It all started with the Friendship Angel I received from Patty. Hell, I don’t even really talk to her; she works over in Shipping. Sure enough, I get this e-mail saying how most people don’t even have 8 “great friends” but I’d get 2 years of good luck if I pass it on to 10 people. I mean, I have over 40 people in my Address Book, which isn’t huge, but I have quota.

Delete.

So I’m walking back to my car only to find the word “Bastard” spray painted on the hood. I couldn’t make it out at first since there were baseball bat indents on there too. Standing there with my WTF face, a car pulls up to me and the guy asks me if I’m Tony DeFranco. I say "who?" He apologised saying he got the right make of car, just the wrong license plate. Then he drove off. I guess this Tony knocked up his sister.

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A couple of weeks later I receive an e-mail asking me to take a sex quiz. I think it’s the only time I performed well with something related to sex. Once again, I had to send it to 10 people by the next half hour or else I’ll have bad sex for the next 7 years. For one thing, it’s embarrassing enough that I took the quiz but what would be worse is being ridiculed by passing it along, especially to the guys.

Delete.

All that sex stuff kind of made me horny. I got home and started putting the moves on my girlfriend. I got the “I can’t tonight”. “Headache?” I asked. “Yeast Infection.” I don’t about you, but yeast doesn’t make everything rise. Three Kleenexes later and I was asleep.

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Seems like every other week is Friendship Week. E-mail-wise, anyways. It’s always some sob story. For some reason, women eat this kind of thing up like crazy. And it’s not that guys don’t care….well, I figured I’m not going to depress anyone today.

Delete.

I came home and I thought the place looked pretty clean then I realised that only my stuff was there. At least she hand-wrote the note. If it was an e-mail, I probably would have shot someone.

There’s my tale of woe. So: my car is still in the shop (thanks, Tony), my girlfriend left me and I have 6 years, 10 months and 10 days of bad – if any – sex to look forward to. As a warning to others, I hope you have at least 10 friends to forward this story to within the hour….

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