Okay, so I wake up Sunday afternoon, soaked with beer, stinking o' puke, all on my lonesome, in a bed made for two - Dino Ginelli done struck out again for third week in a row.

Now to you dateless wonders out there this may be business as usual, but to the Big 'D' it rates right up there with snow-blindness, and facial crabs - shit I ain't seen this little action since Mighty Jack Shit put bleach in the optrex.

So, first I gets to re-thinking my strategy - hey maybe it's the clubs right? I mean hell, I see these kids shaking their ass, and I don't know whether its some new dance craze or nappy rash. I mean alcho-pops for Christs's sake?!!

Next thing it'll be gripe-water in a can, with a junior disprin, an a Farley's Rusk on the side. And before anyone says any wise-ass shit - I sure as hell ain't getting' any older, so it's gotta be the groovy-gang right?

Yeah, the more I think about it the more it makes sense, I mean these Steps-chicks are all into sensitive guys with kind eyes, a great smile, and a copy o' Tomb-Raider, who cry at chick-flicks and have to shave once a fortnight. Last thing they want are sweaty, bad-hair types with dog-like breath and a smell (or men as I like to call 'em).

Still, that said, the Rock-joints ain't exactly been no Babe-Oasis - 'Fact is the last few I been to, I ain't seen nothing but camels. Okay, I guess I could lower my standards a little more but shit, if I swallow my pride any more, damn thing's gonna drop right out my ass.

Hell no! While I still got the power o' sight I'll stick to rubbin' the magic lamp - thanks all the same.

So, with the fear of another weekend without so much as a kick in the jewels, I starts to thinking that maybe, just maybe it's the technique huh?

No, seriously. I mean, chicks ain't what they used to be ten/fifteen years ago. No, these days, we got women flying helicopters, driving cars, we got women doctors, women lawyers, women cops.

Oh yeah, and we got to cross a few barriers as well right, but how the hell can you have a Male Nurse?! - I mean, it just dont make any sense.

Yup, things are sure different since they dropped the PSM act, I mean come on! Was a time when they couldn't iron so much as a T-shirt come strop-week, but its all skydiving and windsurfing now right? - Don't take no genius to do the math on that one.

Okay, so what does this mean to me? Well, I know it's only ugly guys that should need to buy chicks drinks, but with the babe famine fast approaching a record high, least I can do is buy my own, an that calls for cash.

Problem is, the green's been as lean as the bar pickings I been getting, specially since I lost the job at 'Carlitos', thanks in no small part to Lou-ann L'amore, aka 'The Bitch'.

Now let's get this straight, she comes in dressed in a shoe-lace, shaking her ass in the face of anyone out of a dog collar, and then she has a problem when someone sinks his teeth into it (Man, it ain't like I got rabies or nothin'!).

But hey! I hear you ask, if yer figuring on spending cash anyways, why not pay for a fumble direct, probably be a damn sight cheaper in the long run too.

Way I see it though, if money's changing hands, it ought'a be comin' my way. Problem with that is, its only yer run-o-the-mill Tycoon/Lottery winner could afford it, an the Stud-muffin's got so much more to give - shit, the chase is half the fun God-Damn it.

Then it hits me - Who am I tryin' to kid, if there was any action to be got out there, I'd be getting' it right? Yeah - gott'a be the calm before the storm right?

So I looks to the skies, an smells the air - gonna be a real down-pour round these parts soon, trick is not to get too wet out there.

Hey, the 'D-force' ain't like the chimps out there jumping anything in a size 10 and suspenders - Hell no! Way he sees it, the Dino Rodeo's something special which happens between a man an' a woman who've been getting to know each other nice n' slow. Who've nurtured a relationship over the weeks and months - a smile across the bar, a gaze across the dance floor. Two people who've shared a beer, maybe a laugh or three, before finally getting it on big-time in a whirlwind of liquor-fueled lovin' whilst her boyfriends outt'a town at a concert - oh man, that's beautiful.

Happy Hunting - 'D'.