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The mythmath of romantic laughterness

robert_1.jpg (11559 bytes)The Glove Of A Good Woman is the most vivid imaginary cave picture in the mind of Cro-Modern Man today. It's the only thing men think about, if you don't count Exciting Sporting Events. To a man, The Glove Of A Good Woman is a magical object, like the Holy Grail or a new credit card, which promises to make his pain go away and keep him feeling happy inside and safe from harm. In this it also resembles morphine and organized religion.

Despite the enormous progress in scientific doubletalk since 1945, men remain very superstitious people. In their magical way of thinking, The Glove Of A Good Woman is a divine power fetish, laden with ju-ju, that will somehow

rescue them from their nasty, expensive habits and self-destructive lifestyles. All by itself.

Wherever men gather, hunting and drinking in the asphalt jungle, cheering their totemic warrior substitutes at Exciting Sporting Events, or ingesting Talking Plants with clan brothers in live/work lofts, you hear them say, "If

I just had The Glove Of A Good Woman, I wouldn't destroy myself like this. The Glove Of A Good Woman would save me." At this point on the curve (8.3 drinks or 12:55 a.m. Mountain Time), the men sincerely believe what they are

saying, or at least, that they are saying it.

In fact, a man obsessed with The Glove Of A Good Woman can speak of nothing else. He sees it in his dreams each night. He yearns for it every time a Good Woman enters the room, or doesn't, as the case may be.

This obsession generates romeopneuronic energy deep in the man's Everglades. Gathering velocity as it is pumped into his Middle-Atlantic Region by the warm waters of his Gulf Stream and the accompanying hot air, The Glove

achieves critical mass confusion on credit and spontaneously ignites over Long Island Sound, becoming a fiery incandescent image in his Connecticut Unconscious. The man has A Burning Glove In His Heart.

The most extraordinary aspect of this pyrocaardiac fantasy is how the manbehaves after he has finally gotten his hands on The Glove (typically through stealth or subterfuge sharpened by thousands of years of hunting animal

brothers and the Good Woman).

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He becomes calm. He feels happy and secure. And successful. He thinks he's got something. He ceases his infantile self-destructiveness, or at least cuts back somewhat. During this initial, or courting phase, the man worships his

treasured Glove Object, stroking it, praising it, promising it things, taking it out all the time and showing it off to his friends. He gives it sweet little kisses and invents Imaginary Stories in its honor, some of them very

clever and Romantic.

Women can't wait to give their Glove to a man like that. Unbelievably, men's crafty ways continue to fool many a Good Woman, even though their mothers tell them all about it years ahead of time.

And their mothers are right, too. You can take the man out of the cave but you can't take the cave out of the man. His charming behavior is only a temporary warming trend (Interglacial Romance). Sooner or later the man is

compelled by his sulking Ice Age nature to mistreat and abuse The Glove he once desired above all other things.

He begins by taking little bites out of it. Then the bites get bigger. And more frequent. The man's Ice Age regression accelerates and before long he is walking all over The Glove, lying on it, and to it, or using it as a dropcloth for one of his imaginary cave pictures. Sooner or later he buries it in the yard and forgets where he put it.

When the Good Woman realizes the man has lost her Glove and can't return it, she takes whatever Glove she has left and leaves him to his sorry fate. Then the man howls and whines piteously. He runs around in circles digging holes

all over the yard, desperately seeking The Glove he has lost, so he can repossess it and be magically saved. All over again.

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This wailing and weeping is nothing but the man's Ice Age Thermo-Pneurotic Glove Complex venting itself. Eventually his crying subsides to an occasional whimper and some scratching. Before you know it, the man is once again attending Exciting Sporting Events, listening to Talking Plants, painting the cave walls of his mind, and swearing to his clan brothers that he would give all of it up in a heartbeat for The Glove Of A Good Woman. Another one.

Is it any wonder that some people don't believe in evolution?

Robert Hurley