A cathedral of Gothic style standing firmly in the middle of tall slender trees carefully placed in rows forming a square amidst a typical dreary autumnal scene in some remote place in Europe often serving as the prototypical location for classical horror movies, which with the inclusion of the typical context, in which a group of travelers are stranded due to some unexpected event and are forced into the very depth of hell, which is often the essential part of the films' plots, by fate, forms the overused archetypal setting for unimaginative screenwriters; that is, a very suspicious place for the likes of me, who are so emasculate that a little spider would make them screech like a fat blond Singspiel performer, which would instantly break every window within a three miles range as well as everything made of glass, and scary too. This metaphor intended to describe a woman as seen through my eyeglasses, which I like to call truth glasses and unlike the hippie glasses that tend to mold reality into attractive balls of dogmeat, which for the lovers of wine and beer would be women's breasts and asses. I must confess, even though I am a man, I am deeply scared of women. They come across as violent and brutish as a group of Amazons stretching their arms to hurl a rain of spears upon an innocent man who was only looking for an edible fruit in the jungle, and not to savor the delightful fluid of a ripe apple. But who am I to judge? I, as an eunuch, could be classified as diametrically opposed to them. However, this problem of mine has no remedy. For me, to stand firm before their entrances and knock at their doorsteps is the equivalent of whipping a Rottweiler using my flaccid hot pepper. I do not know of a person who would enjoy taking a bite at that; however, you never know with animals. I certainly would not gamble the little "manhood" I have.