Probably More Here Than Anyone Wants To Know

Me: That's it. I should not be allowed in public anymore. Simple as that.

Ego: Why now?

Me: Because when I'm at home and sequestered away, I can control Libido.

Realism: Somewhat at least. And when you're in public?

Libido: WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Me: See for yourself.

Pragmatism: ...holy God.

Libido: Pretty tiny redhead! No, brunette with unreal legs! No, pharmacist that looks exactly like Kristen Bell! Too many choices! Blargh!

Confusion: So wait, is he dying?

Me: No. He's just paralyzed with indecision. Kind of like if you have a choice of beers but can only have one.

Budding Alcoholism: ALL is one.

Self-Loathing: But you don't get ANY! It's like having that choice and not having anything.

Ego: Hey, suck one.

Self-Loathing: It's not a mean thing! It's a TRUE thing. You said it yourself many times before. It's not like you are being DENIED a beer. You are actively walking away from the damn table. YOU are spiting Libido. Not anything else.

Me: That's not...

Self-Loathing: It absolutely is! You KILLED your Romanticism. Stone dead iced the fucker.

Zombie Romanticism: Blaaaaaaaaaaaaargh you did this blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

Me: He's still alive...ish.

Self-Loathing: Yes, because the ladies want all up on a dead, rotting thing.

Me: ...some do.

Pervert: Even I don't want in on them, dude. That's a little much.

Self-Loathing: You have to accept that by murdering Romanticism and burning down the internal bridge that could lead to Libido ACTUALLY getting a workout, you are cutting yourself off. Setting aside the fact that you look like Homo Habilus...

Bad Joke Center: YOU'RE a homo, habilus!

Self-Loathing: ...and the fact that you clearly don't care about your weight anymore and the fact that you have basically become a bitchy old curmudgeon, isolated and withdraw from any sort of polite society...

Ego: What's your POINT, mean...head...?!

Self-Loathing: My point is that even if you made yourself hot - a Herculean task as anyone would admit - you would still be emotionally unavailable.

Emotional Unavailability: Yo!

Me: That's not true at all.

Realism: Dude. Yes it is. Completely. I may not like the bastard but that doesn't stop him from being absolutely right.

Inner Child: Why is he right?

Me: He's not. He's a big dumb liar.

Internal Sadism: Hey man. I'm on your side. This is the perfect abuse for your junk.

Pragmatism: Wouldn't you be on the pro-romance side since that one provides so much more potential for both physical damage as well as plenty of expected emotional destruction? Don't you call it something like a...what is it again...a two-fer?

Internal Sadism: Ooh! You're right.

Libido: But wait! This way it is now leaves me struggling for breath and cruising hard towards impotence.

Internal Sadism: That one's good too! Oh, I just can't choose.

Me: How about you just let me do what I'm going to do and stop trying to psychoanalyze me, you bitches?!

Ego: Okay, that's good. That's totally healthy.