Hello, my name is Steve, and I have no butt.

Sure, I have something that pretends to be a butt. It looks kind of like a butt, feels kind of like a butt, and performs various functions limited to butts, such as sitting and other things that rhyme with sitting. But it is not a butt in the conventional sense of the word – it provides no padding, little sex appeal, and I've seen Rubix Cubes with rounder corners.

I'm not sure how old I was when I realized that I had no butt. Whenever it was, it's been a daily part of my life ever since. I am uncomfortable on wooden benches, it is quite difficult to hula, and I don't even bother trying to dance the hustle. Frankly, I am afflicted.

People notice often; I am constantly hearing comments about my deficiency of posterior. People will say, "dude, you have no butt," and "what happened to your butt?" and "Man, that pizza was good. Dude, you have no butt."

And it's true – the pizza was quite good. Coincidentally, I also have no butt. Sometimes, I don't even like using the word "but" because it reminds me of my pain. Especially when I sit on wooden benches.

I'd imagine a butt would be quite useful, and not in the Ladies Man sort of way. Since it could help keep my pants up, a butt could save me quite a bit of money on belts. Have you ever seen those children's coloring books where the 2-D pants simply look like an upside-down V? That's what mine look like from behind while I'm wearing them.

I have often been persecuted for my lack of butt. It is commonplace to hear names like "Small-butt" and "no-butt" and "the guy who doesn't have a butt." Once, I was even called "sheer rear." Actually, I wasn't, but that's just because all you people with butts are more comfortable on benches and thus have gotten lazy and uncreative.

I'm sure I will get complaints from readers who actually have butts. You will write in and tell me how hard it is to go through life with a considerable caboose, and about being called "big-butt" and "butt" and "the guy who has a butt." And certainly, you've been called "massive assive" because people without butts are very creative. But these names are mere retaliation for years of inadequacy. Face it – this world prefers butts. And not in a Ladies Man sort of way.

Butter. Buttons. Butte, South Dakota. There are butts everywhere we look. And though some of you may like that sort of thing, it is a painful reminder to those of us whose only butt comes in the form of a flying buttress. Which I always thought sounded like a wrestling move.

No one ever made a song about liking small butts – the lyrics just wouldn't work. No one cares about Sir Mix-a-Little's anaconda. And when a girl walks in with an itty-bitty waste and, well, nothing, no one really notices. Except the people calling her "no-butt."

I have often lied about why I have no butt. I've told people that I lost it in a tragic farming accident. I've told people that I actually have a butt, and only smart people can see it, kind of like the Emperor's New Butt. And my favorite explanation is that I laughed it off at everyone being so concerned about whether or not I have a butt.

I still hold out hope that I will grow a butt. But as I get older, that hope dwindles and is replaced with seat cushions and tight belts. If I haven't grown a butt by now, it probably won't happen. Especially since no old people have butts. Well, they might, but I've never been inclined to check. If any of you know whether or not old people have butts, please keep it to yourself cause I don't want to picture that.

Those of you reading this that do have butts, I implore you to help ease the plight of your buttless friends. Compliment us on how our pants just kind of hang there. Tell us that it must be nice to never have to buy a product from Suzanne Sommers. And most of all, don't ever take the last donut – we need it more than you. Please, give your butts to the less fortunate.

But not in a Ladies Man sort of way.