THE RAMBLING MAN Sex Appeal

Author: Raam Wong

I have often heard it said that "no one dates at Middlebury." Actually, I normally only hear this from women who are telling me why we can't go out to dinner. Still, with the warmer weather, students are now on the prowl for either a long-term relationship or at least someone to share a drunken hookup with, someone who they will never see again except for awkward glances in the mailroom.

The search for that special person extends to McCullough dance parties in which students face such war-like conditions as dehydration, exhaustion and sweat stains. While there are some students who succeed in hooking up, most fail, due in some part to their amazing ability to grind to music while being completely oblivious to what musicologists refer to as "rhythm." Many students never get to do the "Walk of Shame." Going home alone, they're forced to do the "Walk of Sexual Frustration Because Everyone Hooked Up Except Me." (Also known by the acronym W.O.S.F.B.E.H.E.M.)

Some have even ventured to find love online. They find it stimulating to be able to talk to a perfect stranger using sexy, dirty online acronyms like, L.O.L. (Laughing Out Loud), I.L.Y. (I Love You) and D.A.I. (I Am Dyslexic).

The first step to finding love online is creating a profile. While I don't have one, I'd expect my profile to read something like this: "Fun-loving. Bachelor. Smoker. Look like Brad Pitt."

Of course, that's a ridiculous, unbelievable profile: I don't smoke. This brings up another fallacy of online dating — people always lie. For instance, if a woman tells you that she looks like the beautiful Latino pop singer Selena, that probably just means she likes Mexican food. Her appreciation of the Mexican culture only extends as far as enjoying Taco Bell's Beef Gordita Supreme, which, coincidently, happens to be her co-worker's nickname for her at the office. The rule is, no matter what physical descriptions a person may give you online, you should subtract six inches from their height and add 60 pounds to their weight.

In mocking people's different endeavors with the opposite sex, I don't want to imply my track record has been perfect. I've had several failures, such as in the fourth grade when a girl refused to play doctor with me, claiming I had the wrong health insurance. And I am not very fashionably conscious either, considering I buy all of my suits in bulk at Ames. In fact, I can count all of my endearing qualities on one finger, which, by the way, has a yellow hangnail. However, I have come to realize that in order to be successful with the opposite sex, an individual must have a gimmick —that certain quality that sets a person apart from the rest of the pack.

Every great man has used a gimmick to woo chicks. (Their first secret of courtship is probably finding a synonym for the word "chick.") Jesus Christ is a prime example of this. Now, most people don't immediately associate Christ with sex, unless they're me. But take my word for it, this dude had an enormous gimmick at his disposal. There's no better way to raise a woman's libido than sitting next to her in a bar and handing her your business card that says, Jesus 'Hank' Christ, Carpenter & Son of God. Now that is impressive. What woman doesn't want a man who can fix things around the house?

For example, Elvis' gimmick was his deep, smooth voice. His universal appeal is evident in his given title: "The King." Of course, Elvis didn't actually get this nickname until after he died while sitting on the throne. His death in the john was a tragedy for millions of men, women and plumbers alike.

Bob Dylan also had great sex appeal. Dylan's poignant songs were his gimmick. Unfortunately, now Dylan is nothing but an old, drugged-out guy who can hardly string a sentence together. He is often mistaken for the President of the United States.

In the political realm, Congressman Gary Condit also had a knack for impressing the ladies due to his political power. When I was interning in D.C. last summer, it seemed that the entire city was consumed with the sordid details of his affair with Washington intern Chandra Levy. He destroyed the power of his gimmick, however, when most people began to suspect he was responsible for the intern's disappearance. (Shocked by the news that the congressman probably made the intern drop off the face of the earth, my loving parents called urging me to have an affair with the politician.)

It is now time for you, the reader, to embrace your own gimmick, just like I've done. Though I've failed to develop any gimmick as astounding as being the "Son of God," I have done pretty well for myself as "Son of Tax Attorney."