Because in the words of the now defunct but still awesome girl group TLC, a scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me. If you're a girl (and yes, I'm including you Rosie O'Donnell), you've probably had a lame boyfriend or six in your day.  You know the kind: the guy that gracefully steps back and lets you cover the movie when it's your turn in line.  Or the guy that suddenly gets a bad case of explosive diarrhea when the waiter brings the check to the table.  What about the guy that claims he can't come pick you up because "that's a long drive"?  Oh yeah, he's a real winner alright.  Perhaps you've been with the lamest boyfriend of all, the kind that claims he can't go out tonight because he's got "strep throat," except you find out "strep throat" is really code for "plowing that girl from my psychology class" when you drive to his apartment to surprise him with some chicken soup.  Yes, we've all had some boyfriends like that, and many of us choose to think back on these relationships with strong feelings of bitterness and the urge to kill.  
         
Ladies, these men are known as scrubs.  Unfortunately, they are multiplying quicker than a basket full of gremlins in Lake Tahoe.  Soon, our planet will be wrought with smelly, scruffy-looking, unemployed jackasses whose only desire is to sleep until two in the afternoon and play World of Warcraft all night with their coven of witches and wizards who they chat with on AIM.  No female is safe from these lazy vagabonds, whose most common method of attack is to hang their greasy heads out of the window of their mommy's minivan and yell, "Hey honey, wanna drive me over to the video game store?  Maybe after that we could play a little WoW, and then maybe if you're lucky I'll put my sword in your sheath" wink wink.  Ladies, if this happens to you, you should simply reply "SWORD?!  You'd be lucky if you had a pocket knife under that cape of yours!" and walk away. 
         
Not to fear, for there is hope.  Hidden away in the remote sea caves off the coast of Mexico are bevies of non-scrubs.  In these caves you will find decent men who will pick you up, take you out to a nice restaurant, pay for your meal, engage you in conversation that doesn't include video games or "the scrapbooking class my mom makes me go to," and instead of blatantly begging you to ravish them all night long, choose the more subtle but also more effective method of charming your pants off.  Once every ten years one man is sent over to the United States from these caves via raft to fulfill one lucky lady's fantasy. 
         
Until mine gets off the boat, I'll stick with the single life.  And my vibrator.