Yo Vinnie,
I started emailing some woman. She lives 3000 miles from me. She won't talk to me on the phone though we do have some friends in common and I know for a fact that she IS a woman. Well, we recently had a disagreement over the fact that I have a girlfriend. She says I didn't mention it. I say I didn't matter since we were just cyber flirting. She says I am a piece of shit. We are now full on cyber arguing. My question is: how much is too much for an electronic relationship? -- R.E.

"C'MON BABE....I'M WEARING THAT KICKY LITTLE BODY SUIT YOU LOVE SO MUCH....C'MON, PUMPKIN. DON'T BE MAAAAAD....OK...I'LL HOLD YOUR CYBER PURSE FOR YOU. AT THE CYBER POETRY READING."

Dear SAPERSTEIN: How's that faggotry treating you? Pretty good? Good. Glad to hear it. And I say "faggotry" here not because you've opted for all of the misery of a relationship with none of the fun, like eating steak and onions....without the steak, but solely here for your over-use of the word "cyber." This is as gay as shrimp cocktail. Or shoulder pads in your jacket. Or MIKE LA VELLA. Stop it. Stop it now. Back away from the '90s and no one will get hurt.

Now were we? Oh, yes. Your "issue."

Look, if I had a nickel for everytime a woman called me a piece of shit well, I'd have $10,678 dollars and about 25 cents. Them calling you one doesn't make you one. No. No, indeed. Them calling you one is a negotiating tactic very akin to Bush tell Al Qaeda to "bring it on": assholish. Because real pieces of shit won't care (believe me, we don't). The rest of the sausaged world will be, in order to prove to the distaff chorus that they are harmless, unscrewing their sausages so fast it'd make your departing head spin.

My advice: until she's paying you for enduring her company with a little something to warm the cockle of your heart, you ignore all of these ersatz entreaties to do what's functionally equivalent to going to a poetry reading. Every night. In your apartment. In your underwear. When sluts with nice butts is one OTHER click away. And then do everything possible to steer the conversation back to

a) sausages
b) their creamy filling
and
c) the likelihood or possibility that she'll be helping you liberate it any time soon.

Everything else is Dr. Phil shit and nary worth your cybertime.