The pitfalls of modern dating

Let’s see now, folks, what’s been happening since last we met up here? Oh, that’s right, ChatGPT — which seems to have materialized overnight out of sheer nothingness — is, we’re suddenly forewarned, poised to take over the entire world, and the fears are both simultaneously justified yet farcically jaundiced. After all, unlike with flesh-and-blood humans, should one care to stop Artificial Intelligence from potentially going nuclear-rogue and obliterating all humanity in some wily doomsday scenario, all any idiot need do is yank its damned power cord from the wall.

Like, duh?

I mean, considering A.I.’s sustenance requirement — even if it can learn to think all on its own, and conclude our world would be a much better place without us — how is it possibly going to retaliate, minus being plugged into an electrical socket? Is it going to learn how to hunt down a human, cook it, then eat it whilst guzzling moonshine and defecating on dead Master’s porch, all the while crooning, “Bye, bye, Miss American Pie?”

Ha! Yet, precisely this sort of Cartoon Network inanity has everyone on a razor’s edge. A Terminator world hijacked by bots? To quote Cicero, “No one dances sober, unless he happens to be insane.” Well, here in the merry, merry month we find ourselves so, let’s just get mayday madness right to it.

Dear Howard: My boyfriend’s been on this jag lately where everything he eats must be gluten-free, organic, and non-GMO. I keep asking him why, but he only glares at me, like I’m a loony psycho. I think I’m ready to dump this dunderhead already. You got my back here, Howard? — Justin
Dear Justified: Toss this mindless lemming back — the sooner, the better, in my opinion. May I inquire as to what, exactly, he is managing to subsist on anyhow, outside the possible exceptions of oxygen and Ozarka water?

Industrial farming has perpetuated this pithy myth of good-and-gather labeling (aka “certified organic”) and brainwashed all of us who live on food into believing we’re healthier for their utterly meaningless packaging slogans — that if it’s certified organic, it’s equally non-GMO. How many ostrich heads can one sandbox hold?

Here’s the deal, kidz: In the same equivalency as, say, computer cookies, no consumer has an actual, health-free clue what “Genetically Modified Organisms” truly means, except as an implied justification to shamelessly charge $12 for an 8-ounce jar of nut butter. Meanwhile, there is no such unicorn as non-GMO food; not one single food item (in an entire grocery store!) hasn’t been genetically modified at some point.

Left to her own devices after all, Mother Nature’s fruit trees do not yield bushels full of magazine-cover peaches or crates of unbruised, perfectly-shaped, blemish-free apples, apricots, pears, plums, bananas, etc. — no more than, say, “seedless” is a natural trait of watermelons and grapes. Strawberries, sans genetic tinkering, simply will not grow the size of ping-pong balls nor sweet corn the girth of dildoes.

Mother Nature is not a freak of nature; yet, as with porn stars’ penises, only the biggest, juiciest, most perfectly mouthwatering fruits will consumers pull their wallets out for; hence, anybody wishing to live GMO-free, better move to Mars.

Dear Howard: I’ve got a question regarding age difference versus LTR compatibility: Are there any algorithms of sorts available to use for figuring out how low you can go? I need a formula to follow for this dating nonsense! It’s all just too exhausting; nothing ever goes anywhere.

What is the youngest age a person can be for an older man to feasibly date and still hold out hope for there to be any sort of realistic marriage potential? I’m on a losing streak here lately. Hell, maybe I’m just getting too old to expect I’ll ever meet a man to share something in my future other than just role-play sex.

Technically, I’m middle-aged. Definitely, I’ve graduated to “Daddy” territory, so of course a lot of the guys I’ve been meeting on the dating apps are younger. I like that, except for the fact that this new generation is so conversationally-stunted. They can barely even talk! Invariably, they just sit across the table in a restaurant from me, transfixed by the palm of their hand. How young is too young, Howard? I’m tired of making the same twinkie mistakes over and over again. — Michael

Dear Mike: Take your age, divide it by two, then add seven; mathematically, that’s the lowest age you can go.
For instance, let’s say you’re single, pushing 50, yet still searching for that elusive love of your life to ride out the sunset’s rainbow with? Well, half of 50 is 25, and seven added to that equals 32. Thus, the very youngest person any 50-year-old can realistically date with the assumption that it could theoretically lead to something more substantial than just another Sugar Daddy/Baby scenario or a Father/Son fetish is a 32-year-old.

Again, though, Mike, keep in mind, we’re talking outer limits here, in situations where both persons involved are mature, responsible adults fully aware that compromise is the secret to any relationship’s success, no matter how many years separate their individual ages.

Finally, on an illuminating endnote, seeing as how we’re back, at last, to that radiant time of the year when it’s still broad daylight well after 8 p.m. comes Howard’s pointless trivia query of the month: How much time is required for the light from our Sun to reach planet Earth?

ANSWER: A) 0.8 seconds, B) 84 seconds, C) four minutes, D) eight minutes

The correct answer, bois & gurlz, is D: Approximately eight minutes is required for our sunlight’s source to reach our atmosphere — about the same amount of time it requires me to translate any given sentence of y’all’s text-speak hieroglyphics into the King’s English: RU12? Are you one, too?

Have a gaily memorable Memorial Day weekend, sunny bois! Summertime’s lazy daze is just around the corner!

— Howard Lewis Russell

Have any June gloom questions for Howard next month, men? Whatever’s gotten your temperature up, Howard will obligingly ice it down, at