Yeah, it’s similar to the one involving your ass, but more rare, complicated and difficult to remedy. That said, my problem deals with this lacking lothario bastard that finally left my life last July. Unfortunately, I can’t get the dickless wonder out of my emotions.
I could go on and on about how much I hate him with all of Bob’s powers. How much I couldn’t trust him to tell the right time, be faithful with a donut or work more than 20 minutes a week. I could lament all the shitty, head-exploding miseries he put me through, money of mine that he wasted like toilet paper, and just general reek-piss-on-your-heart-and-then-shove-it-down-my-throat antics, but it wouldn’t do any good. I know what he is and that’s some place under Satan’s left frozen nut in Dante’s hell. I know that I’d be losing more than my sanity to be with him and gaining another psycho set of Manson family members to boot. I know I’d end up doing (like has already happened ) the most unbelievable and uncharacteristic things possible to make him not PMS, fuck the dog, still IRS money from his deadbeat father or road-rage someone with a damn deer rifle. Plus, this bastard ended up being one lousy lay. Oh conceited Eros, ‘selfish’ is thy nickname.
Regardless, why the hell am I sitting here on the eve of my 37th birthday, at last doing better (in that I’m no longer agoraphobic, living alone in my OWN place and holding down a job), and yet bawling my eyes out and wishing for alcohol over someone who Joan Rivers wouldn’t touch with a Gucci bag on a 50 foot red carpet while Brad Pitt licked her crusty nipples?? I hate, hate, hate this attrocity to boyhood and want nothing more than my stupid-ass, silly, romantically delusioned, brain dead, “I wish he was what I thought!” idiotic self to GET THE FUCK OVER WEASEL PUS! It wasn’t real, nor is he. He’s not even a poor cheap imitation of a manikin portrayed to be human.
Let it die. Burn him in effigy. Pray to Cthulhu that you I on, right now, with zero looking back or I’ll turn into worse than those dirty salt pillows. And let fate blow him. Because that’s the only decent head he’ll ever get now.
Fuck fairy tales. Fuck love. Fuck me. I’m such a fucktard loser.
Shit. I might even consider celibacy, if I didn’t have to do without the sex.
I think I need some more sweets.