Yet, I was gainfully employed and I had ... for the lack of a better word ... a girlfriend.

There’s a reason I hesitate to use that term. Over the years I have tried to explain to people a real life woman that nobody could write about -- because the character would be unbelievable. I don’t have to read erotica, horror, psychological thrillers, the DSM IV, gonzo journalism or watch soap operas AND ’Fatal Attraction,’ -- because she all of those things rolled into one psychotic bundle. She had a body, a walk and an aura of sexuality that would make women just automatically throw a backfist without looking because they knew their husbands were gawking.

At the same time she could turning into a destructive whirlwind of a harridan that would have people diving for cover. And that isn’t hyperbole. While she never was dumb enough to try to physically attack me, for the record, picking shattered glass out of your cheek isn’t fun. While she didn’t exactly throw it AT me, that glass shattered a mite too close to my face. To say that she lacked impulse control is like saying the Titanic sprung a small leak and that brings us to what happened.

This woman is the source of my term: Poisonous Fuck Bunny (PFB). The kind of woman that every young man's 'wild uncle' has a duty to take the youngster aside one day and explain there are certain kinds of women he should run screaming from. In short, no matter how wild she is sexually, PFBs have snakes in their brains and they are pure poison.