My experiences with love, so far, just haven’t been good ones. I really want to kick the person in the head that said “It is better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all.” What a load of crap.
Why is it better to have loved? In the end you are just left, totally broken, with a shattered heart in your hand, and then you have to start over. And you can’t think about all the good times you had with that person, because it hurts when you do.
Basically, I want to go back to the days of free love. How great would that be? No attachments, just love for everyone.
Of course, then my rational, sensitive side kicks in and tells me to shut up; which I do, mostly because I am in love with the idea of being in love. Which makes me what? A big moron.
I blame all of my delusions about love on Saved by the Bell. I have the idea of a Zack and Kelly co-existence burned into my mind. They were just perfect for each other, and you always knew that they would end up together. Why? Because the show’s writers made it that way. Maybe I should get some writers for my life. I could get 30 of Seinfeld’s, Ally McBeal’s and Dawson’s Creek’s writers. That way, I would have a comedic, witty and emotional response for everything.
My writers would sit down in a room for a couple of years, think of every possible situation that I could ever get into and then conjure up a response for me.
I would then hire a hit man named Tony “the fish,” and he would take care of any tough problems I had. “The fish” would provide services such as cutting off the toes of any writers who had the gall to come to me with an unacceptable response.
“The fish” would need to have an operatic voice so he could sing bad news to the people whom I didn’t have the heart (or balls) to confront for me.
After a few months of greasing Tony into my life, I would hire an agent named Tammy Jean. Tammy would be on assignment to scour the acting world for a couple dozen able-bodied 20-something men. When the men were found and cast, they would come to live with me, and, for a period of one month, these pseudo-Josh’s would follow me around to try and catch all of my quirks (and there are quite a few). They would be trainees in my empire of Josh-dom.
Each Josh would be given an individual assignment in the area that I felt he excelled at. Some would be nice Joshes, a few would be mean Joshes, a couple more would be romantic Joshes, and so on and so on until every available facet of Josh was completed. These Joshes would graduate and, until I had to call “the fish” because I was dissatisfied with their work, they would remain and I would surrender the everyday activities of Josh to them.
Now I’ve just got to find those writers and everything else should fall exactly into place.

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