I am, for all intents and purposes, merely mortal. A mortal composed of flesh and bone and blood; dripping with an abundance of life and emotions – hopes and dreams and tons of other stuff that I’m sure people smarter and more eloquent could articulate much better than slovenly old me. Keeping this in mind, I’m also a man. A man who happens to be, well, a Grumpy Auld Bastard. A man with purpose. A man with desires. I am a man with a penis. As such, I have learned to control…nay! to tame!…my libido so that I use that power for good.

There is, however, that one time of the year when all of a sudden that libido gets unshackled. I speak of ‘Intern Season’. Heaven help me. At the end of May/beginning of June a fresh crop of youngsters come into the city full of dreams and hopes. They all look so adorable, unlike us veterans of the workplace.

Today didn’t help, either. During DC’s power outage all the interns had to wait outside the building with the rest of us riff-raff. Working in a building that has numerous lobbyist offices, lawers, and such you forget the number of people there. And the number of interns. Holy God. I couldn’t throw a rock without hitting one.

Not that I threw rocks at them.

In any event, it seems that as I grow older and decidedly less attractive (this is a subjective observation, mind you) the bunnies that get hired on as interns get geometrically hotter. I couldn’t help but take double takes at a number of them, all crisp and fashionable. When the power didn’t come on after waiting about for over an hour, one firm decided to round up their interns and march them off to a different location.

There I stood, on the phone, as a parade of hot bunnies walked by.

Lechery. Thy name is Puzzy.