Actually, I don't think I said anything inconsistent with the gospel of St. Richard. And while I could argue that "intelligent life is a given if u mix a bit of water and mud", my fidelity to scientific method, and the painful memory of my ultimately disproven theories regarding the supernatural provenance of Christmas presents and, even more disastrously, lactococcic lunar ontogeny, incline me to await the results of empirical investigation first.

Call me repressed, but the randomness of my snuggling activity is itself constrained by certain distinct parameters of species, gender, physical appearance, and the ineffable subtleties of personality and pheremones.

In other words, unless you're an attractive female Japanese snow monkey who's into foreign films, entheogenic spelunking, the overthrow of corporate capitalism, and long soaks in natural hot springs under gently falling snow, I'm afraid I'll have to draw the line at a firm handshake and a hearty "hail-fellow-well-met." And maybe some of that hoppy beer.

Nothing personal, of course.