At three, the mind will do strange things. At four it shall rest. Then again at five, the demons shall arise and who else but Jennifer Aniston on my mind. I can't help but question the string of failed romantic quests. From McGlone, to Mohr, to Rudd, to Gibbens, to Wahlberg, to Gyllenhaal, to Carey, to Stiller, to Owen, to Ruffalo, to Vaughn, to Wilson, on to Affleck, then Zahn, Eckhart, Butler, Bateman and finally off to Sandler. One might suppose that after ten failed romatic adventures the future is no less better and pretty grim for our chummy friend. But hope is not lost upon her, and nor shall it ever be, as her life is dictated by that the hope of romance. The belief that indeed practice does make perfect, or is it maybe that practice, and practice, and practice and practice, will engender a new form of perfection: that of the unreachable and truly intangible perfection of illusionary love. Our hopes and dreams forcefully inserted into him, and our expectations never realised and our desire for perfection in him is only a reflection of our striving of perfection in ourselves. Indeed what we thought was wrong with him over and over again is what is fundamentally wrong with us. For your love is only an image of you and it can be quite ugly sometimes.
Image Credit: scrapatorium.
Image Credit: scrapatorium.
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