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} The weather is affecting your libido because of your job. You work
} hard every day, flying your tiny two-prop plane to 5,000 feet at six
} in the morning, loaded to capacity with droplets of dry ice. You
} spend a full ten hours seeding the clouds with dry ice so that rain is
} produced. The people of the third-world countries, whom you bless
} with your painstaking and gracious gift of rain, are greatly
} appreciative, and they give you collections of brightly-colored rocks
} and shrunken heads. However, your work is tiring. You spend nine and
} one-half hours scanning the skies for seedable clouds, and you take
} only thirty minutes for your lunch break, during which you tie the
} plane's throttle and steering wheel to their respective places with
} dental floss. All in all, very grueling work. The pay is very poor:
} several bags of quartz and three shrunken heads per week. You have no
} health insurance. It is easy for the Oracle, or anyone else, to see
} how your work with the weather is affecting your sex drive. You just
} don't feel like masturbating like you used to. Your hand has started
} to notice, and it has become generally pouty and difficult to get
} along with. Your home life with your hand is in a shambles: it has
} stopped wearing its wedding ring.
}
} So, naturally, you think that this may be the time for you, an
} underpaid and underskilled cloud seeder, to break away from your hand
} and start a new life with Alyssa Brown. She is, as you say, hot. Can
} a confused, sexually frustrated geek like yourself get up the courage
} to leave your hand behind and start a new life? Do you think that you
} can do without the masturbation that has made the relationship between
} you and your hand such an enjoyable, fulfilling one? How can you make
} the break, when the time comes? With bittersweet understanding? With
} harsh resentment? With a Ginsu knife?
}
} The Oracle has pondered the lifepaths which may result, should you
} decide to leave your hand and go after Alyssa. Take note: Alyssa
} Brown is a rather intelligent, college junior with good manners and
} nice breasts. You are an underpaid, socially inept nerd with an
} Internet tap and a closet full of very small, brown heads. Sorry. It
} just won't happen. Alyssa has her pick of cute guys, lining up to
} whisk her away to Venice, Paris, New Dehli, and Munich in their
} Concordes; your two-prop job can get her maybe to Cleveland. Alyssa's
} bevy of masculine forms pour forth splendiferous love offerings:
} diamonds, rubies, emeralds, beryls. In comparison your quartz would
} implode and decompose into shiny dust, if crystalline structures were
} able to feel shame. Alyssa makes intelligent, rounded, erudite
} conversation with her suitors: they talk of the philosophy of Kant,
} Rawls, Aristotle, Mill. You would just keep asking "Wanna see my head
} collection?" Figuratively, you are as a small splattered insect on
} the windshield of Alyssa's 1971 Jaguar. Realistically, you don't have
} a snowball's chance in hell.
}
} Stay with your hand. You were made for one another. Remember the
} moonlit nights on the shores of the Hudson; remember the policeman
} catching the two of you together and firing those warning shots.
} Remember how you and your hand laughed, because you were in love and
} therefore impervious to bullets. Do you understand what the Oracle is
} getting at? Square it with your hand. Buy a dozen ... well, a
} half-dozen ... no, buy two roses for your hand, and gently ask it
} about the missing ring. Tell your hand how no one has ever touched
} you like your hand does. The Oracle promises that your hand will be
} deeply moved, and your essences will grow closer and more deliciously
} inextricable. You will forget that you ever wanted a human female
} over your wonderful, grasping appendage. Yes, stay with your hand;
} after each lonely, grueling, cloud-seeding day, coming home to your
} hand will be as a genesis, a rainbow, a reason for living.
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