A list of dealbreakers, continued.

I forget what number I was up to in the last entry and I'm certainly not going to look, because what we do here at this blog is FORGE AHEAD UNDAUNTED. We also MANIFEST DESTINY, and while we're at it, EXCELSIOR! As such, all items are going to be lettered in this installment.

a) You have gum disease. I am of the impression that gum disease is preventable. If gum disease is not preventable, then I guess I'm going to hell for categorically disliking all you hapless gum disease sufferers: sorry. But so long as I won't see you there-- you with your bleedy, beatified smiles, you of the flosslessness and inflamed gingiva-- I think I will be okay.

b) You smoke pot. This is a conditional dealbreaker. If you smoke pot and I don't know about it at first and then find out after I decide I like you, I can be flexible. However, if I discover your smoking habit in tandem with your lifelong subscription to High Times, your extensive and well-used bong collection, and your 700-photo Picasa album of your trip to Amsterdam, and IF, when I encounter this information, you cite a less-than-credible source stating that getting baked lowers your almost certainly elevated intraocular pressure because dude there's a history of glaucoma in your family, and also George Washington smoked pot when he crossed the fucking Delaware, and also the cotton lobby in America is conspiring to keep marijuana illegal, and also, getting stoned makes you less tense which is really important because 2 years ago you backed your Saturn into a fencepost but since you've been smoking every day you haven't hit anything at all which obviously means that you drive better when you're high, it's over.

c) You give me a hard time about how I don't buy a lot of shit. Look, I like to shop only about 70% as much as the average girl. I like some new things, such as shirts and shampoo, but other new things stress me right the fuck out, like phones. Why is my phone so shitty? Because the alternative of getting a new phone that I have to figure out is far shittier. Don't worry: I replace my underwear when it falls apart, purchase new cat litter when the batch I last bought has been pooped in to capacity, and buy new cheese when mine grows green fuzz. This is the extent of new shit with which I'm comfortable. You don't like this? Go gloat over your iPhone somewhere else.

d) You're in a band. Sorry. This one isn't fair: it's totally me and not you at all. I hope you have a really good time with your band and that you meet a girl who likes you just the way you are. But that girl will not be me because I think bands are dumb.

And that's all I've got for now: 4 measly bits of vitriol. Am I losing my edge? Stay tuned.