My Difficulties Are Manifold by Jayworth Zed If you are experiencing troubles with the women in your life, then

I pity you, in a condescending manner. I, on the other hand, have nearly one hundred difficulties that I face, but I do not count women among them. For example, the police have been investigating my possible gun ownership. And there are a number of people who would be happier if I were dead, particularly those who have criticized my artistic stylings. Certain members of the music industry have implied that I am irresponsible with my earnings, failing to take into account my impecunious upbringing. I willfully ignore their commentary, however, and suggest that they apply their tongues to the entirety of my sphincter. If they find my music to be offensive, they can simply choose not to partake. Sometimes I find that my take-it-or-leave-it attitude prevents my most famous titles from being properly exposed by the media, particularly when I refuse to cooperate with churlish radio show hosts. Other members of the media attempt to exploit my fame and fortune for their own economic benefit, operating under the misguided impression that I am blissfully unaware of their business tactics. My success in extricating myself from my own monetary challenges should clue them in: I am not to be trifled with. So if you are still concerned about your piddling romantic problems, I will remind you that my own struggles, numbering well into the double digits, do not involve a single female. Strike me directly! I will repeat this for emphasis. You may be having a disagreement with your significant other, but my struggles do not involve a single female! In a summer past, I was traveling down a passage cleared for vehicular travel, when I was accosted by the local constable. I found myself at a mental crossroads; do I obey the police officer's directive, or do I brazenly speed off into the distance, hoping he is not swift enough to catch me? In my mind's eye, I saw a breaking news bulletin, highlighting my criminal escape, and I was repulsed by the thought. Bolstered by the knowledge that I have funds sufficient to retain an attorney, I chose instead to comply. As I pulled my vehicle to the shoulder, the police officer approached. He asked if I was aware of the reason for my detention, and I replied somewhat snidely that my telepathic abilities left something to be desired. Due to his disrespectful attitude, I felt as if our altercation began solely due to my age, race, and dress, and the stereotypical predilection towards criminal activity often associated with the three. The officer casually remarked, "By my account, you had reached speeds which were impermissible in this area," but my instinct told me that his measurements were tainted by a deep-seated prejudice. At this point, the officer demanded that I present my driver's license and registration documents, and further directed me to step out of my vehicle, so

that he may execute a Terry frisk, believing that I, like many others in my socioeconomic position, was armed. But I demurred, and, noting both the legitimacy of my registration and the secured nature of my valuables, reminded the officer of my 4th Amendment right to freedom from unreasonable searches and seizures. The police officer became visibly irritated, and spoke to me in an increasingly paternalistic manner, mockingly inquiring about my qualifications and questioning the basis of my seemingly unfounded recalcitrance. Though I am not an attorney, I am proud of my legal erudition. But, sadly, in this case, this knowledge did not prevent the subsequent arrival of a K-9 unit, a fact which was noted with glee by the condescending officer. If the comparison is not yet glaringly obvious to you, what I am trying to impart is that my problems, which are plentiful, have nothing whatsoever to do with women. Strike me directly! I will repeat this for emphasis. If your difficulties involve the fairer sex, then I am sympathetic, but my own problems have nothing whatsoever to do with women. A short while ago, I encountered a loud-mouthed prostitute. Now, I feel I must clarify--this person did not possess a vagina, nor did he actually exchange sexual favors for money. No, I was using the term to dispense ridicule upon this gentleman, whose lack of judgment and common decency displeased me greatly. In what turned out to be a very characteristic move on the part of said gentleman, he began to jostle me with his fists. I am a peaceable man, and although this ruffian was doing well to raise my ire, I attempted to channel my indignation toward a higher power. Summoning my inner strength, I prayed to God for this man's salvation and enlightenment. I'm sure that you, dear listener, have encountered similar individuals: those who produce noise to rival an active internal combustion engine, but whose timidity and cowardice ultimately preclude them from any form of physical combat. I would go so far as to suggest that, were we to settle our differences with the violent use of edible vegetation, nary a morsel would be injured. No good could have come from this exchange. It's a story as old as time - I engage the young hoodlum in fisticuffs, who then, despite the inherent irony of the situation, reports the battle to the authorities. The end result, of course, would be my incarceration. Once more! I would be confined with the lowest of society's downtrodden. Once more! I would have to tolerate the maniacal twitchings of the addicts. Once more! And irresponsible journalists would certainly be present, capturing my humiliation with flash photography. The district attorney will once again show his prejudice by arguing for an absolutely egregious bail amount, not only because of my universally slandered race, but also because of my fame, which he will exploit to make an example out of me to society at large. I ask you, is it fair that I am to endure this injustice, simply because this vagabond portrayed his actions as innocent? Before you answer, let me remind you that I am armed, and my love affair with my pistol prevents me from taking any foolishness with good humor. I will slap it against my hand menacingly as I obsessively repeat my refrain; I hope it will work its way into

your brain so that you never again bother me with your trifles. My difficulties are manifold, but never once have allowed a woman to work her way under my skin. Strike me directly! Yes. Your madness is evident, Richard! It is I, your compatriot, Jayworth Zed!