The world is a lonely place, because the only certainty in this world is that we will die in it - alone.*
The passing of an equinox seems to set a priority flag in the "fuck the next available mate" in the brains of the creatures of the world. In autumn, with the world dying around us, the predefined instinct to cheat death by propagating our species by copulation (viz. fucking) kicks into high gear. In spring, the dawning of a time of new life, the fucking instinct is pretty automatic, what with every living thing on earth hell-bent on propagating itself as fast as possible.
Fall is the time in college when I remember people (who in my memories are always not me, though I know this isn't true) hooking up like mad - for no real reason other than it seemed like the thing to do. I was very, very bad at this sort of thing in college, and that was because I reaked of a disgusting pheromone that triggered violent reactions in women** to turn off whatever attraction they were feeling for me.
That particular fragrance is known as desperation.( Collapse )
In the not-so-immortal words of a certain Mr. Owens - "Comments? Questions? Projectiles?"