It all started for me just a few months after graduation. Everything was going great: I’d studied hard, joined all the right “honor societies” (go Red!--inventor of acrobatic cheerleading!), interviewed at all the best and biggest corporations, got hired and finally got my own dream cubicle (shared) and a boss that cared so much it seemed like his gaze never left my right shoulder. It was like my home away from home! After just 2 years of working bliss, I finally earned by first vacation day and took off to beautiful South Jersey to see if I couldn’t loose all of my savings at black jack. Eventually, taking a short, but enforced, break from the tables, I decided to get some fresh air--wading in the surf, enjoying nature’s beauty, innocently feeding Alka-Seltzer to the seagulls when, wham! A killer whale beaches itself, looking for baby seals. None were around, so instead it grabs my ankle and drags me down into the dark depths of the Atlantic. I don’t mind saying, I thought my seconds were numbered. Luckily, the whale, plenty of water, and myself were suddenly sucked into a gigantic underwater submarine owned by Dr. Maybe--Lord of Neutral and her band of neutral doers. Her henchpersons, “the neutrinos” were a gang of 37 young, beautiful, bisexual women wearing specially modified Swiss Army uniforms. Modified, that is, to feature hot pants and T-shirts two sizes too small. For many hours, I battled the forces of Neutral through round after round of lingerie-clad tickle fights. To some of you guys, that probably doesn’t sound like suffering, but you must understand that I was not exempt from the lingerie requirement (you have to pay $10 extra if you arrive out of costume) and I assure you that popping a boner in a G-string is pretty much like giving yourself a wedgie. (Strangely, “wedgie” is not in the Microsoft Word dictionary--you’d think the guys who write these programs would be familiar with that word). For days ... weeks ... months I suffered until I discovered the “crotchless” lingerie option; on that day, like Patty Hearst before me, I was instantly converted and joined the forces of Neutral! (“crotchless” is also missing from the MSWord dictionary, but that is easier to understand...) Eventually, Dr. Maybe was forced to go to port so we could refill our supplies of lollypops, pearl necklaces, fruit roll-ups, chocolate syrup and medicinal herbs. Little did we know, the forces of good had spent billions of dollars developing technology that would enable them stick their noses into our business. They were waiting for us. They boarded our submarine, singing hymns, genuflecting and pasting fig-leaf Colorforms over everything--desecrating the neutralness of our adopted home. Dr. Maybe suddenly stood up, turned to faced them and, wiping off her chin, murmured “Darn you! Darn you all to heck! Prepare to feel the indifference of Neutral!” With that, she started scratching her fingernails along the blackboard and singling the neutral anthem (“One Note Samba”). Well, poor Dr. Maybe was no match for the forces of good. They rounded us all up, lectured us in the virtues of abstinence and nuclear power, dressed us in modest outfits from the Gap and finally tortured everyone until we confessed ourselves witches. Eventually one of the good-doers discovered I was a man and threatened to send me to seminary school, where they assured me I would be very popular with the other priests. But that is another story...