No, it's not as hateful as the "I hope you get raped in the ass with a knife and get AIDS" one that I ran here recently. That was a classic.

But it's almost as clueless.

It's from someone purporting to be a fan, asking me for help in finding him a love match.

And here are the credentials he's looking for:

"Do you know of any single, not Jewish (or actively Jewish), beautiful, not pierced weirdly, not tattooed, not too crazy, women in New York that might want to meet a single, smart, funny, literate doctor, without the baggage -- just hasn't found the right woman yet?"

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Maybe you're even married to one.

I'll give you some clues that will help you assess the psychological state of the other person in the room.

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"Those who can't, teach," so I gamely helped match up a nice young woman named Lorraine with the best of three available suitors last night at The Fix-Up Show, a live dating extravaganza done by J. Keith van Straaten up at the swingin' Triad.

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via Wikipedia

Anything useful.

I'm so tired of being barraged with worthless information.

So please give me a bit of wisdom that I can actually apply to my everyday life.

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In fact, that should be prohibited by law!

After the two-hour mark, even the greatest triumph of cinema (save for Gone With the Wind) begins to grate on your nerves like a party date who won't shut up.

I mean, did The Karate Kid really have to weigh in at two hours and freakin' 20 minutes?

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If you've ever expressed interest in refinancing, you'll notice that your bank rep calls you back about 800 times, feverishly urging you to do so.

That plants the idea in your head:

Hey, this process must be way more rewarding for them than it is for me.

Avoid!!

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Is that you usually end up reeling in a big, whopping dis.

A couple of years ago at a diner--oh, hush, you have to eat somewhere--I spotted a guy dutifully reading my column at another table.

Anxious to be anointed with all kinds of praise, I raced up to him and gurgled, "Hey! That's me!"

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Now that I've finally joined the twitterati kicking and screaming, I've found out why people do this thing all day.

It's sometimes to send links and information--a noble gesture, though one wonders why people appoint themselves the unpaid info spreaders of the web through eternity.

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A friend of mine told me that his ex is so sexually addicted that, once he tried recovery, he couldn't even masturbate for fear that it would launch him back into his horndog mania!

Taking a hand to himself would be equivalent to a recovering alcoholic grabbing just a tiny sip of champagne--i.e., a recipe for disaster--so the guy studiously refrains from slapping the salami, instead using his paws for any other imaginable activity that'll keep them busy. (How about recreating all of Julia Child's recipes? But not the one with boning!)

Did you ever hear of someone so sexually driven that they couldn't even jerk off?

Last year, a club regular I know found a boyfriend and was thrilled about all the hot sex they were having.

That plunged them into a sizzling relationship, and every time I ran into them at a bar or club, they were all over each other, gleefully making out and dry humping, unable to keep their hands off each other for a gay second.

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