Women.

Women.

The blight of our land. The plague that roams our modern world. The pot of piss that runs our society down the toilet.

How I despise them.

Why these harsh words? I'll tell you why. Women, they... elude me. They reel me in, make me like them, make me adore them--then they shun me. Let me tell you, I've had history with all of these nominees. I know, I know! You don't have to say it, I know I'm da pimpmaster. The deal is, they've all hurt me terribly in the end, and I intend to repay the favour. I'm going to tell you what these girls are all about. Here they are, our nominees; exposed and uncensored.



Let's start with Jessweeee♪. J sure was a cutie. You know librarians? That sort of cute. She was shy in the beginning, I had to work hard for her affections. I courted her for a month or two before she let me kiss her, and from there it wasn't far to the bedroom. But man, you should've seen it. Her bedroom was big, and her bed was king size. As we entered the room, she told me she was going to go get ready, so I lay down on the bed and waited. I eventually fell asleep. When I awoke, my hands and feet were cuffed. I had a ball gag in my mouth, and at the end of the bed stood J, dressed in latex with a whip in her hand. I doubt I need to tell you where it went from there, suffice it to say my body still hasn't recovered in full. When she was done with me, she told me I'd been too much of a wimp, and I never heard back from her. Freak.



Lekana was a sexy bastard. I met her in Wal-mart... I didn't take the first step with her, I didn't get a chance before that woman was all over me like an overall. I tried to tell her to slow it down, but she was just wild, man. Two months later, well, it's off to the abortion clinic. People gave me those "you irresponsible bastard"-looks, and I felt bad. I asked Lekana what we had left, which is when she told me she didn't even remember my name. Ouch. I saw her six months later in that Wal-mart, in the very same aisle we met, where she was now hitting on three other boys at the same time. I've heard people say she hangs out in that aisle every spare hour she gets, catching every boy she can... Makes a guy feel appreciated. Slut.



Sweet strawberry girl Marshall Banana was a different deal. I found her working in a bookstore, and asked her out at once. The answer was a slap in the face. I don't know how many times I went into that store, asked her out and got the slap in return. I developed a love for this abuse and told her about it. That's when she reluctantly started to let me take her out. Every time I said something inappropriate, there was that hand, and I loved it. My bruised and battered face didn't, though, and eventually some features of it grew malformed. Because of this, she disowned me, left me to the wolves without ever giving me so much as a kiss. Witch.



Darling NeoTifa. We were so much in love, after meeting through some common friends of ours and spending a steamy night together. We spooned, we cooed, did the whole lovers thing. But this girl, man. She's bat insane. Got all jealous as soon as I looked in any direction but hers when we were out walking. It went as far as her trying to blindfold me before we went out in public, but that's when I had enough. Ti baby, I told her, this isn't working. She immediately thought I meant the relationship as a whole, and hit me over the head with the brick she kept in her purse. She proceeded to kick me in the stomach, stomp on my half-dead body, put salt in the open wound on my skull, and finally tase me for a while. I heard she wiped out a village or two out of pure rage while I was out cold. Lunatic.



rubah. Oh man, rubah. She owned a magic bus and was out travelling with her husband, and stopped to pick me up when I was hitch-hiking. One of the nights as we camped by the roadside, we had a lover's rendezvous a short way from the camp while her partner was passed out drunk. And I... I really thought we had something there. Problem was, the next night when her husband was more sober, she told him about the night before, and I was sure I was in for a beating, but he didn't seem upset. Instead, they went ahead and started telling me about some weird cult crap they were in and wanted me to join, where they basically meet up, pray to the fairy godmother and host orgies. I've never been one for praying, so I declined, but I'd barely said the word before they went for their knives. Needless to say, I was out of there faster than you can say "Wench".



Rye was my first Italian chick, and things couldn't have been better... or so I thought. It started out when we met in the gym, working the treadmills. She was wearing a sports bra, but it didn't help that much, so when she stepped off I did too, and bumped into her "by accident". She gave me a sharp look at first, but I took off my shirt and she was mine. It was all very romantic. We had a good thing going, and the gym restrooms saw more action the following months than ever before. Come cleaning day, the janitor had mopped the restroom floors, and they had yet to dry. She left me with two broken ribs, one broken heart, and a bastard of a hospital bill. Vixen.



I know, I know, I should've learned the first time. scrumpleberry was my second and hopefully last Italian. I met her at a comic-con of all places. She told me she liked my costume (Spock) and I said the same about hers (Spike from Cowboy Bebop), and we hit it off from there. I knew from the start there was something off about s, but she kept me wanting more, so I stuck around. We were very close, but she just didn't want to put out. You don't know how many tricks I tried to get into her pants, but no, she was cold. It took me a full year to figure out just what it was that was so odd about s. See, I woke up one morning next to her, it was still dark. I went in for a kiss on the cheek but was met with prickly hair. I turned on the light to find her lying there with a beginning beard stubble. Tranny.


These are my stories; all of them true, of course. I've since sworn off women entirely and now love only myself. You might think I'm being childish, you might think I'm being judgemental, and I am. Yet I am presenting this award as if I cared about girls at all. The truth is this: These women have caused me endless grief. They have torn my soul asunder, and yet... yet, I can't hide that I still love them all. They are the raisins in my muesli. The pourri in my potpourri. These women, EoFF, are the loves of my life.