the ralph macchio of the '00s

Dear Peanut Guy,

There's this guy I've been just hooking-up with. I would see him once a week for a simple roll in the hay, and i'd sleep over. I wont call him or text or anything because i don't want him to think i expect this whole FWB thing we have going on to turn into anything. Normally when we're hanging out i wont touch him, i wont care if he's talking to a girl on the phone, or even making plans with another girl. I wont hang on him, or flirt, NOTHING! Within the past week he has invited me over 5 times,he's always flirting, and i've caught him looking in my eyes alot lately. He ims me everyday even if its just to say hi and see how im doing.

He got mad when we were watching 8 mile and i said Eminem was hott! He playfully hit me in the stomach, and then randomly said that he wanted to have sex with this girl i knew one more time! i was like what? why? So i hit him back. and just smirked. Do you think that he's trying to make me jealous, and that he wants to take what we have to the next level?

I'm so confused!

~Please Help!!!!

dear please,

ah, to be young! for long and fair were the halcyon days of my youth, and more than a few "fabaceae with benefits" did i encounter upon the way:

there was fair Stilgar, that salty pre-med wonder with ears like moonlit silt on a frosted treefern; to look into her coal-black eyebuds was to gaze upon the very core of earthen harlotry!

there was Throgmart, beloved princess of syrupy creamed yogurt, heir to the gilded tiara of St. Radagast, and the world's preeminent catheter scholar (among soda jerks)!

and at last there was the silken, magnificent Horndurf; that fabled dreamboat whose eyes were a billion screaming stars braying like charged lepers in the rich, cosmic dust of some planetary afterbirth. to consider for one fleeting second the intricate details of her perfectly salted posterior was to dive headlong into the beating heart of universal rindlust. how her root nodules teemed with nitrogen-rich rhizobia! how her radiant calyx glistened beneath sepals of infinite delight! for her i would have slogged a thousand rods through the inkblack depths of the Sub-Georgian Horror Plains. and but for her unhealthy preoccupation with Ralph Macchio, "the Eminiem of the 1980s," i may have had the chance. from me she was spirited away in some Macchiovian sports car, gone forever.

FWB, sweet PH, are like farts in the wind. beautiful? without compare. sweet? beyond earthly measure. pleasing to the ear? like a thousand interwoven symphonies written and performed by choirs of Juliard-trained angels. but fleeting, PH. ever fleeting.

i counsel thee to trust not the clutches of thy barnyard companion of the hour, but to prepare thy hay for a romp with the apple of thine eyes: jimmy "b-rabbit" smith!

aim for the heavens, dear PH. FWB are fleeting, but Eminem is forever.

with pomp,
the peanut guy!