Drax is Back

Alright readers, the requests weren't overwhelming but it was enough to motivate me. Like I said before, let's just get everything out in the open. So if you recall, not long ago I did get in touch with Sarah with the intention of telling her some of the things that had been on my mind about the two of us. She responded about how I imagined she would, and it was for the best. Then she finally got around to reading my blog, which for the record I didn't keep secret from her. The result was shitty, but also what I expected. If you can't remember all that was said, then I suggest going back a few posts and review.

After the angry e-mail she sent me about the content of my blog, the one I posted for everyone to read like the horrid dick bag that I am, I decided not to respond to her. I figured it would only make her feel worse. Normally people's feelings can go fuck themselves, but as you know, I have a soft spot for Sarah. Still I posted her personal e-mail to me, like a dick bag, but it was only fair. When I didn't respond, she checked my blog again, and sent me this:

"Dear Andrew,
I hope you read this….After not hearing back from you after my last
email I figured you'd posted something on your blog. I am pretty
bummed that you feel you should share all your thoughts with the rest
of the world and not with me, but that's your choice. I can respect
that.

I did want to say just one more thing…you said in your blog that you
would have given it all up for me. Guess what, you didn't. And you
didn't change for me. You didn't clean up for me or give up your
comfort zone…..and you shouldn't have to. You're absolutely right
about that. Two people that are right for each other shouldn't have to
change each other. You're correct when you say people should love you
for your furious miserable bastard self….and no other reason. Who
knows, if circumstances were different, maybe I would have. I'm not
necessarily against those qualities in a person because I know that
can't describe someone completely, but I didn't get that chance….How
can I possibly know you fully if you hide things from me? How can you
expect me to accept you and appreciate you if you aren't giving me all
of you?

You denied me the one thing I asked of you, the one thing I ask of
everyone….honesty. From day 1 that's all I wanted….I wanted to know
you…ALL of you. I guess I didn't deserve that much. Sorry I do have
some "standards" I guess you could call them, but I'm not willing to
sacrifice what I believe or change who I am for anyone either. It
works both ways.

Please stop hating me for standing up for what is important to me and
vocalizing my opinions on the self destructive behavior of a person I
care/d about. I may have said some very harsh things in that last
email and for that I'm sorry, but you really left me no choice.

Take good care of yourself.

Hardly worth idealizing,
~Sarah

p.s. I thought of one more thing actually…you seem to neglect the fact
that I was crushed after leaving CO too….I idealized you too….and when
you said "don't' wait for me," I took that as a hint. My heart sank
that day, but I respected your decision and went with it. Enter
Bobby.

I am what I am too….and if you can't accept me or respect me for who I
am, then I have no room in my life for you either. You've hurt me
enough."

After reading this one might expect me to have one of my classic HOW FUCKING ANGRY AM I? moments, but it wasn't the case. Instead I had a how fucking dead am I inside? moment, and the answer, apparently, is fairly dead.

I still didn't plan on responding. I figured she could say whatever the fuck she wanted to me, and it wouldn't matter, and to be honest it still really doesn't matter. Life went on as usual for me the next couple of days.

It probably won't surprise you that this docile state I was in didn't last. After going back and interacting with people my anger flared up again, and all I could think about was how I wanted to drown the world and eat the universe. Though instead of eating the universe with my mouth, like say Galatus from Marvel comics, I'd feed it to my penis. Though you should know by the time my anger allows me to attain such a transcendent form that I might actually eat the universe, my penis would probably resemble one of those giant ass sand worms from Dune, only less gay. And probably bigger since it would have to eat the universe, but that's all speculation.

Anyway before I go and get all distracted again, my point is that I fucking hated everyone as usual, and the one person I thought might understand me was fucking pissed at me too. After a couple of days I decided her response simply would not stand. Like I said before, just because I like you, doesn't mean you're safe from me. Still, I was tactful, at least I think, in my response. Really readers, you should be proud of me. Here's what I said in response:

"Well now, where to begin.

I felt the need to post our business online because this is how I'm choosing to channel my frustrations. As you know, I dropped out of school in order to take my writing seriously, and the blog is just one of the projects I have been working on. Sure, the things I've been describing for all the world to see are really none of their business, but people are actually paying attention to what I have to say. People I don't know are actually reading what I've been writing, and liking it, believe it or not.That is something that makes me happy. I feel like I'm making progress for the first time in a very long time.

Now for the really unpleasant stuff. Honestly, I didn't intend on responding to your e-mail because I didn't think you'd really care about what I had to say. It sounded like your mind was already made up. After your second e-mail I thought about it for a few days until I decided that I should probably say something.

To begin with, I've realized that you weren't the person I thought you were either. Though unlike you, I wasn't angry, hurt, or even upset at all really. I felt like I should have been, but I just wasn't. I've experienced a lot for my age, I feel anyway, lots more than I described on my blog, and in comparison, you being upset with me seemed like par for the course. It's something that I've just come to expect from people.

I obviously didn't expect a good response from you concerning the events I wrote about, but truth be told I also didn't expect the specific reaction I got from you. I feel like you didn't read what I wrote very closely at all, and fixated on the most irrelevant parts. Just to make sure I wasn't being crazy for thinking this, I of course consulted my closest friends, knowing me best after all, though even they were shocked at some of the things I said, agreed with me about that. I realize that isn't exactly fair to you, but I feel it's important that I'm not alone in having that opinion.

In regards to the parts where I'm treacherous, deceitful, and unaccepting of you and your opinions...well I feel like most of that isn't true. Granted, I admit to lying to you. I wish that I would have been strong enough to tell you how much I cared about back when you left. But I wasn't, so I convinced myself that by not making an effort to be with you was the right choice. So yes Sarah, in that way I did lie to you, and I'm sorry. It causes me pain every day, and that will be mine to live with. As for the rest of the things I wrote about I don't see how that's relevant. If I chose to omit things that I was going through during the few times we communicated that's because it wasn't any of your business. You have a boyfriend, so what I choose to do with my time is my business and not yours. Now as far as me not giving you all of me, I feel I explained that poorly. The person you knew when you were out here was me. It was an honest me, and a true me. This other side isn't the dominant side. It's slowly becoming more dominant as my frustrations grow, but in my mind that would have been something that the two of us would have come to in time. That and you must realize that something like this is so subconscious to me that it's hard to vocalize to others. In fact you can't really vocalize it, it just happens and others observe it. If that makes any sense. In short, I wasn't lying to you while you were here. The me you saw then would have been the me you would always see. In fact, you encouraged the better side of me to remain dominant, and I truly did feel like a better person while you were here.

Now another reason for my decision to tell you not to wait for me was because I knew that I was incapable of being your boyfriend in another state. Just the thought of being so far away from someone you've invested so much in emotionally is a terrible idea as far as I'm concerned. I mean you must understand that at least a little being away from Bobby so much, especially since I do recall you telling me that you love him. I'm just not sure I can convince myself that you can love someone in the way you think you do, if you hardly ever see them and interact with them. In my opinion your concept of love is very traditional, and in the life experience I have been granted I have a hard time finding examples where those traditional methods pay off. You can hate me for saying that, but that's how I feel. Just the thought of me making some terrible mistake with you away was too much for me to bear. If I was going to change the way I interacted with women before you came along, I would have needed you close to me, since it wouldn't be an over night transition. Remember the last time we spoke on the phone, after you broke up with Bobby the last time? I told you that had circumstances been different at the time, I might have followed you back to Florida. That was true. If the circumstances I have now where in place when we parted ways then things probably would have been different. It just didn't work out that way. So for you to say how crushed you would have been to "give up your happiness" to be with me only for me to dump all this nonsense on you is not how it would have been. If we had stayed together then those things i wrote about never would have happened. If say I had convinced you to move out here for me, which I would never have done because I know how important you work is to you, if anyone would have moved it would have been me for you, I can write anywhere, but if I had convinced you then i would have ceased my activities to focus on you. So I don't feel like it's fair for you to say that. As I've said everything I've done while you were away has been my business, not yours. As long as your dating Bobby and living so far away from me that's how it will be. You can disapprove of the things i do, but I don't see how you can be angry with me in the sense I just mentioned. I would have done better for you.

So when you make claims that I was never honest with you, not only do I think that isn't fair, but it almost makes me want to have nothing to do with you. Because that wasn't how it was. Oh and if I'm truly upset with anything you've said it's in regards to the comments about how I hate you for thinking the way you do, and that I won't try and understand. That is definitely not the case. I never made any claims in what I wrote to imply that. Not only do I accept you for who you are, I love you for who you are, even if it isn't exactly what I thought it was. If I did anything in that stupid fucking blog it was telling the world how awesome I thought you were and how disappointed I was in myself for not doing a better job, and for not being a stronger person to give you what you needed, and how upset my decisions were making me. I can handle you being appalled by me. You can hate me if that makes you feel better. That's what everyone else does. But for you to say that I don't care about you is absolutely fucking stupid and does nothing but infuriate me. If you actually still care about me like you said you did then I'd hope you'd try harder to understand what I've been saying as opposed to making rash and angry decisions. Though, I don't blame for that. Anyone would have reacted that way, and as far as poor reactions go yours still could have been much worse.

I really don't know what else to say. If you don't want to respond to this I'll understand of course, though I have the feeling you now officially hate me and probably have something venomous to say in response. If that's the case then fine. I understand. I'll just absorb it like I do with everything else.

Love
Andrew"

Can you people believe all that whiny ass faggot shit came out of my mouth? Kinda makes me want to vomit, as I sit here reflecting on it. Or at least hate fuck my pillow to thoughts of raping small children and murdering various woodland creatures one might find in Disney cartoons. Still, I'll remind you that I'm not ashamed, and I'm sure as fuck not sorry. I'm certainly not thrilled with everything, but that's just how it worked out. To be honest I did feel a lot better after sending that e-mail. I said what I thought needed to said, and as far as i was concerned, our interactions had come to a close. Then a few days later, I get this:

"Andrew,
Thank you for your last email. I saw the honest and warm-hearted man
I remembered in it; even among your obvious frustration with me and my
biased perspective on this whole situation. You should realize that I
think you're absolutely correct about many things you mentioned, but
I'm too impulsive with my anger and (hate to admit it) my jealousy to
react appropriately sometimes. I've always been incredibly passionate
about everything in my life that is important to me – my work, my
music (I write too, bet ya didn't know that), friends, family,
relationships….but this time I think I let it go too far. I managed
to hurt someone I cared about and for that I'm sorry. You're probably
the last person with whom I'd ever imagine fighting, but when I read
your words…yes those vulgar descriptions so eloquently detailed…..I
felt my heart sink again. The same sinking I felt when I left CO had
returned. My 'fight or flight' response to stress kicked in….guess
which one I chose. It's the ninja in me….what can I say? Although a
true ninja would have been much stealthier in her attack…..sorry….I
digress….
I've kept you on this imaginary pedestal since I left your
world…blinded by what I wanted to see in you. In my head, I treated
you more like an unattainable deity than a human that makes mistakes
and feels the same emotions, desires, pressures and temptations that I
do. Having that moment of realization that crushed my image of you
was difficult for me. The deity I conjured in my head transformed
into a tarnished figure of someone I didn't recognize. I freaked out.
I guess that proves I'm human too. In any case, I DID notice the
compliments and kind words in your blog. That doesn't change the fact
that I felt betrayed or lied to or something. I was hurt. Probably a
lot more than you realize. I'm sorry if you are also appalled by me
because of how I reacted, but its pretty obvious that 3 weeks and a
handful of emails can't unveil anyone completely. Truth is, I still
don't feel like I know you and I'm fairly certain that you don't know
me completely either. Hell, I'm not even sure you'd like me if you
did get to know me well. I'm afraid there's still more Sarah Funck
that could be unveiled to you.
What I do know is that I am happy with my life and with Bobby.
Whether you choose to accept it or not, he does know me and from what
I can tell, loves every part of me….even the impulsive passionate
tree-hugging feminist psycho-hosebeast part. Perhaps you don't agree
with my definition of "love," but its up to me to decide what makes me
happy. You're correct in saying the distance is hard and difficult to
build a relationship on, but I'm giving it my best shot with him.
I've known Bobby for years now and he continues to amaze me every
moment he's in my life. Trust me, I've dated my fair share of
sweethearts, toolbags, and disappointments in the past and I pride
myself in knowing when I snagged a good one. The trick is holding onto
them. Sometimes I'm shocked it took me this long to realize how
wonderful he is. I'm so sure….that we're moving in together this
summer when I return from Africa. Who knows….it could bring us closer
together, it could tear us apart. I have no idea, but high hopes.
I'm excited for the chance at least.
I'm not sure how to end this email – I'm still upset and I'm sure you
are too. It might be best if we ended it here and let our worlds
diverge. Good luck with your writing; I'm afraid I've OD'd and have
to steer clear of it for awhile….maybe I'll stab myself in the heart
with pure adrenaline, shake off the pain and check in to rehab. Ha.

If our paths ever cross again, you can bet I'll greet you with a
smile. I promise not to attack you with a venomous embrace (though I
did enjoy your implied viper metaphor). I'll be anxious to see what
comes from your end. Thanks for calling me out on everything
too…sometimes you need to a little help to come to grips with your
faults and appreciate the fact that its ok to mess up.

Until then,
Sarah"

Hosebeast? Seriously?

Fucking Christ readers, what a big fucking cluster fuck of bullshit this has been, almost a year since I met this girl. Maybe after reading these e-mails you'll have a better understanding of what I liked so much about this girl. Maybe you won't. Fuck you anyway, because it really doesn't matter. I took this as a personal victory for myself, and it's marked a new stage in my life.

I've spent too long trying not to be Drax the Destroyer, and I've wasted more energy than I could spare telling the God of Fuck to settle the fuck down. I'm done trying to be good. It's all fucking bullshit. Being good is a fucking waste of time, and if you retards disagree then by all means why don't you start you're own fucking blog and bore everyone to death with how uninteresting your life is. Go ahead, entertain me with a story about how eventful you're life is losers!

"Oh today I woke up from a good night's sleep, went to work on time, and was polite to everyone! Fuck me in my stupid boring face!" Do that long enough and in a few decades we'll find you dangling from the rafters. Fuck you.

Now before all you pansies go and get all butt hurt about how mean I am to you, here's the point I'm trying to make about myself and everyone else.

I don't want to be good. I don't want to be bad either. I want to BE.

People have asked me several times why I've spent so much time hanging out in the gutters and dredges. They ask me why I find the company of drug addicts, theives, prostitutes, and skuzy rockers so comforting. To be frank, that's where I feel safe. When I was down in the heroin den with Halo, watching him inject his life away, watching my own life guzzle down the drain, I still felt safe. There are no expectations in my world, at least not the kinds there are for everyone else.

By now you may be calling bullshit on me and that's fair. I realize I do expect a lot from people. All I really want, is to not be surrounded by lies. Down in the gutter people just expect you to be. That's it. There just isn't enough room for fabrication.

I'm so fucking sick of everyone living up to these imaginary expectations that just aren't practical anymore. God forbid someone show up to work wearing the wrong colored pants, or not shining their shoes. Jesus will certainly cry if you don't cover up you're nose ring from everyone's delicate sensibilities, or not wash your hands before scooping a glob of potato salad for some fat piece of shit. Think of all those mortified parents, bawling their eyes out as they stroked each other off to thoughts of a conventional family because their kids decided college was a waste of time. Always be polite, get a real job, make money, contribute something, do as you're told and keep your opinions to yourself...well fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU.

Expectations and moral fiber are ruining the world.

Most importantly, don't ever say what's really on your mind, because that might hurt someone's feelings. Fuck your feelings. The world will never unmake itself. Only people can do that.

Stop wanting, stop expecting, stop caring about the things that were never important. We were raised by liers, and now we work for them. It's only a matter of time before we become everything we've wasted our youths rebelling against. I plan on doing everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen.

No matter how much I might want to be plain old Mandrew at times, I will always be Drax the Destroyer.

I'm not ashamed. I'm not embarrassed. I'm not sorry. I AM.

Out of Hiding

About a month ago I had a conversation with a good friend of mine about some of the interesting things I tend to get into. At some point in the conversation he made a comment to me regarding my recent honesty program, where I share my adventures and misgivings with whoever cares to read them. He basically told me that I shouldn’t post about my sexual experiences online. I responded by staring at him, dumbfounded for a few moments, before pounding my double whiskey drink, leaving the table to get another one, pounding that one as well, then by returning to the table to shake my finger at him rigorously.

“What the fuck are you babbling about?” I said.
“It’s just that stuff is none of their business,” he replied.
“And who is ‘they’ exactly?” I sneered at him. I already knew the answer.
“You know, whoever is reading this blog nonsense.”
“Because blogging is for faggots?” He chuckles at me as though I weren’t being a sarcastic prick.
“Yes, blogging is for faggots.” He really does think I’m a faggot for blogging. It doesn’t bother me. I recall that he’s a good friend. Then I recall that I’m asshole, and being my friend does not always grant you immunity from my wrath. Instead of saying anything I simply conjure an image of him ranting about the sanctimony of the real punk rock community, and how he’s rejecting technology because he hates the image it creates, because that image sullies what it truly means to be an anarchist, thus weakening the message of the music.

About five minutes after he says this he asks me if he can borrow my cell phone to check in with his girlfriend. He promised he come home early.
Good one.

With this in mind, I simply smile back at him.
“Regardless,” I begin, “I can say whatever the fuck I want.” He tries to say something but I silence him with glaring disdain that’s usually smeared across my face. I pause, and pound my drink. “I can say whatever the fuck I want. So if it makes you uncomfortable, then don’t fucking read it.”

I wasn’t really mad at him, because as I said, he is my very good friend. If you’ve learned anything about me from reading my past posts it’s that I’m a miserable bastard and I hate just about everyone. I do, however, greatly value the people that I don’t hate. These people are my friends. These are the people that love me for the miserable bastard that I am.

Thus, I do my best to ignore it when my friends say stupid fucking retarded shit. Still, I did reflect on his comments. I’m sure you’ve all noticed that I haven’t posted in a while. This has been for a reason. I’m sure it’s not hard to imagine that I’ve burned a lot of bridges in the past few months.

But you know what? I’m not fucking sorry, and I don’t fucking care. I’m not really sorry for anything that I’ve done. I may not always feel great about my choices, but they’re my fucking choices, so fuck you if feel otherwise.

Not long after my last post concerning Sarah’s response to my blog, I had a few more exchanges with her and we have finally reached a true state of closure. Readers, if this interests you, I will gladly post the last few e-mails I exchanged with her for your reading enjoyment. Please request them in your comments, otherwise I will simply move on to other topics.

My friend was right in saying that the things I do in my time are none of your god damn business. But fuck that really. Fuck him for saying it to me, and fuck you, if for a second you agreed with it, because that was never the point I was trying to make. If I can offer anyone anything as a writer, it will come from my own experiences directly. I’m not embarrassed, ashamed, and again, I’m not fucking sorry. Keeping these things secret isn’t going to do anyone any good. So maybe I’m sorry if my stories have reflected poorly on some people. But really it’s more that I’m sorry everyone is such a fucking crybaby asshole. You’re not always going to look and be perfect, so fuck you. Let’s get everything out in the open, then maybe people won’t get so fucking upset over nothing. Though, I’m hardly one to talk about not getting upset. Sometimes my anger is all I have.

I’m choosing to make my business public, because this is what I want to do. I want to write, and share the things that I learn with others, and hope they will do the same with me. I have burned a lot of bridges, but it doesn’t matter. The people who have stuck by me through the past few months are the only people that matter.

There is a fine line between fiction and reality. Often enough one will find that they are one and the same.

So let me apologize for taking so long to get back in business. The air up here is cool again, and I intend to get right back into pissing everyone off. Just because I haven’t written anything in a while doesn’t mean that nothing has been happening. So please stay tuned. I promise to post something funny very soon.

There’s also a strong chance it’s about my penis.

Who Doesn't Love Closure?

Well readers guess what? I just got an e-mail from Sarah! Ha, yes friends, that is correct. I finally decided to stop being one of those whiny crybaby faggots I'm always bitching about and tell Sarah that I miss her, so that's what I did. It wasn't in an attempt to lure her back here to be with me, I stand by what I have already posted about the matter, but I just wanted her to know. It's part of my new catharsis program that doesn't involve hate fucking.

Anyhow, so not long after I get an e-mail back from her which I can more or less sum up by saying that she still has feelings for me, but she cares too much about this Bobby guy, and I'm sure you all recall how I feel about him, and that we have to keep our interactions, if any, to friend related material.

Can we still be friends! Ha, I haven't heard that one in a while. Still, I wasn't upset. That was more or less the response I was expecting/hoping to get. The whole point was for me to get those feelings off my chest so I avoid future rampages of death and destruction. But then friends, but then, about 2 days later I received this gem from her. So readers for your viewing enjoyment here is what she said:

"Andrew,
I wanted to let you know that I read your blog. Actually, I read it
twice. The whirlwind of emotions I've felt in the past few hours
reading it has me, well….baffled. I don't know exactly what to say
about the events you described, I'm not even sure how to feel. Since
I don't know what is going on in my head, I'll just tell you how I
reacted initially.

The first time, I started reading at blog 11 (it was on the first
webpage and I am inherently lazy). Naturally I was a bit confused at
first…..mixing myself with princess from time to time. At one point I
even thought I = Princess (Sarah means "princess" in Hebrew ya know).
I was flattered at the Fay Wray metaphor….fuck, I own that movie. That
part made me laugh. But by the time I got to the 13th entry…..I
started to realize this blog wasn't fiction and that you were in fact
being "brutally honest." I cried.

I immediately wrote you an email…full of rage, disgust and
disappointment. Everything you'd expect, I'd imagine, after reading
something like this blog. Then I remembered that I care. I care
about you even though you can be deceitful and crude. I once again,
deleted my first reaction email and decided to read the entire
blog….start to finish.

Upon finishing the second read, I am not angry. I'm shocked you must
understand….maybe more at my gullible self than at you. But I am not
angry. I am a bit relieved too after reading the "clean as a whistle"
part. Thank you for being responsible in that regard. Overall
though….I guess I should have seen this coming. You are a guy after
all and you had told me that you were seeing other people after me and
Mexico got crazy….what else should I have expected?

That doesn't mean I approve of any of it or that I'm ok with it. You
are not who I thought I knew…if that makes any fucking sense. Sure I
knew you were a little rough around the edges, a little dirty….but
those were reasons I liked you so much. Truth is, I think I'm
appalled by you now. You can't expect to come clean with someone and
call yourself 'brutally honest' after you've lied completely…..THATS
NOT HONESTY! That's deceit and treachery and I am a fool for
thinking you were anything different.

I'm glad that you suggested I not wait around for you after I left CO.
You have no idea how crushed I would be if I'd sacrificed what now
makes me happy to wait for you to dump this all on me months later. I
am not sure where our "friendship" stands at the moment, but I guess
it doesn't matter, cuz 'guys don't want to be friends with girls'
anyway….right?

Realize that I AM being brutally honest with you…from the start. I am
upset. I am confused. I think I'm even a bit hurt. But again…I still
care about you regardless of this bullshit, so I'm giving you all I
can think of….the truth.

Give me a few days and maybe I'll calm down. Lucky for you, I tend to
forgive and forget pretty easily, but again….who knows if you'll even
want my friendship. I don't know what you want. Take this email as you
will….I meant every word.

Sarah"


As I read this, I almost had one of those, HOW FUCKING ANGRY DOES THIS MAKE ME moments, but to honest, I just couldn't conjure the rage. I've experienced so much frustration over the past few years, and especially over the past few months, also concerning events that I didn't write about for all the world to see, that I just absorbed this one. As you can imagine, hearing that the girl you've been idealizing for ages is now appalled by you, is somewhat painful and rage inducing, but what would you have me do?

All I can say is this:
I am who I am. I am who I am and I don't have room in my life for people who can't except and love me for the furious miserable worthless bastard that I am.

Sarah, the man you spent time with out here was really me. It may not have been all of me, but it was really me, plain and simple.

I was willing to give it all up for you. I was actually willing to go against everything that I had been doing, every comfort zone I had just for you. I would have changed, and cleaned up. Now I see that I shouldn't have to. No one should ever have to change to earn someone else's love.

I could go on about what a tortured soul I've become, and how no one understands me. I've always hated that shit, because that shit is fucking stupid in the simplest of terms.

When I started this post I had a lot more to say, but honestly I feel that I've said all I need to say. There are few people that actually do understand me, and the rest, i suppose, do not.

Poems

Here are the 3 poems that I sent to Sarah, in all their unedited glory. Feel free to judge me as much a possible. I certainly would.




From Start to Finish

He won’t wonder why waking up
is the hardest thing he has to do.
Once his feet get moving and his hands stop shaking
nothing else will be worth worrying about.
There won’t be any more
empty bottles or spilled ash trays, until
later, when all the tears have dried
on his dirty clothes that will be worn again

and again. The world’s volume is turned down.
Walking seems easy; working
won’t make any difference.
The bruises will be laughed at while his
friends wonder why they act
in that way they do, when troubled
times mix in with the good.

The long days run in circles, curious at first.
They drop off again
through clouds one can’t fly through,
only to fall back into that same place when it started.
The hardest thing is the deep breath
he takes in, before the world
forms upon waking.

No alarm will sound,
no hand will gently caress him
His eyes will just flutter
open with his nails
digging through his sheets.
Dogs clawing through dirt.
He won’t be surprised when it’s the morning
that finally kills him.



Scary Zombies Run Fast

All I can hear is the my breath as I ignore
the stampede of blood covered sneakers
I know is right behind me. Then suddenly the innocent
screams are running along side me, pleading,
begging, looking for a way out.
I keep looking forward trying not to see
the terrified faces of those still warm
in bed when cold hands rip their skin, and dull fangs
slowly chew their last few minutes of life away.
The carrion parade sets out silverware
on unswept sidewalks, and carefully kept grass.
Nothing but gnawing and scraping as the zombies feast
and fornicate. Though zombies don’t really fornicate,
people do, which is why there are so many
fucking zombies.

My body becomes a furnace,
a boiler about to blow. Acid courses
its way though my veins,
and with each labored step or missing breath
I am reminded of all my bad choices. The fire
gurgles and I feel like a sixth grade science project,
a vinegar volcano churning and splashing before
its fizzes and sends thin red liquid down its side.
The same bad choices that once
got me through my days. God
bummed me a cigarette, but the devil had the lighter.
Now the devil had us all running, struggling
to breathe.

With every step I see a scrapbook of body parts,
Scotch taped by memories to crinkled pages
and coagulated pools. A severed hand,
the one that shoved and slapped
me before I was big enough to fight back.
It tried to yell fatty, and faggot
but couldn’t, its fingernails long
since ripped out and stuck in
bricks while trying to get away.
Bits of blonde, brunette, and phony
red hair, litter my path in sprinkles of stubby
patches of scalp. Strips of soft skin, and tattered
fabric that used to make flattering all those pretty
faces that wouldn’t fuck me because I wasn’t
cool enough. They sit along side the other strips
of skin and tattered fabric that would.

Was anyone left alive?
With so many people how could I decide
who to find and who to leave behind. I turn
a corner to the mouth of the city. The horde
of ghouls still avalanches
down the road behind me,
when I finally stop before an even greater army of flesh
eating phantoms, content to devour
what was left of all the people I knew.
Visceral decorations are festooned across streetlights,
all torn and tangled, with streets painted by blood,
splattered in splotches on the ground and walls.
It’s a kaleidoscope of gore, the bright red color
of death twisting in the light and spinning
around on all sides.

Every discouraging word stays stuck
to the ripped out tongues left to drip and dangle
on the edge of sewer drains, while gouged-out eyes
make soft squishy piles only to accidentally wriggle
their way through your toes as you walk.
It’s every stare of disapproval I have ever received.
It makes me think back to when I made
claims that no one loved me.
I look around frantically for the remains
of my loved ones,
but the whole mess mixes together,
a murky gumbo of cracked bones, limp muscles, and fading
screams. I think of those same people, being dragged down
by a swarm of greasy rotting palms, covering
their eyes and mouth. That first bite
piercing their skin, making their blood flow, as they kick
and try to scream past all the hungry moans pouring
in on top of them. Were they thinking of how much
they loved me, or if only they could have seen me
one more time, before the world went dark, and there was no
more time to breathe or bleed.

Would those same people then get up,
the now newly recruited dead, bearing all
the gruesome marks of their demise.
Would they also run just as fast as the scary zombies
behind me, or the ones in front that had yet to notice.
Will that same mob of voracious fingers
and palms cling to my body and take me down
to the ground, tears streaming with no more energy
to kick or scream. My skull will be bashed on jagged rock
spilling my brains so that they may slurp them
up through small cracks made large. My throat will be torn out
to spray again the ruined city, leaving a small part
of me stuck to the grains in the walls. Then
my ribs torn asunder and my heart crushed by malicious hands
greedy for every last bit, before my guts are finally ripped
open and wrapped around what’s left of me
to perfectly mummify the end of my wretched life.
Then perhaps I too will rise again
and do the same to someone else.



Falling Up

He’s falling up. A child
of a man being pulled
by grey hands
lined in silver from stage lights
shining behind.
These hands eclipse
the sun. These hands
who are trusted.
These hands that mold skin
by breaking bone, tearing away
shirts and jeans for bed
sheets and white robes.

They shove plastic limbs in his
skin spread open on tender shoulder
blades then staple it shut sealing
it off with black packing tape. Feathers
from dead parakeets and left over
chickens are cemented in
by blood and hot glue. Razor
wire sprayed yellow embroiders
his spine stitched by dull needles
and propped above his head
by hair greased with spit and time.

He’s falling up still closer yet
to lights casting silver hues on skin
and shadows. Hands become
faces obscured by the edge
of light and darkened seats. His wings
will fly affixed to the curtain. Rising
and falling to applause soaring then
sinking wanting to drop down
descend and splatter
on the wooden planks below.
Till one day when his own exhausted
hands finally pull the rusted halo
down around his throat and the curtain falls.

Guna Die Alone the last chapter

Mexico was gone, and I couldn’t keep up my façade. I had magically gone from 5 women 0 in a matter of days.

I felt like some wild beast roaming blind through the wilderness, looking for someone to maul, as I thrash about, and crash into trees. I was all alone.

At least twice during her stay in Fort Collins, I reminded mexico of what I told her before she came out to see me. I’m a mess, and it’s not going to happen. I fucking told her this, over and over, but she still didn’t quite understand. That’s women for you. Now at this point I won’t go off on some tangent about how crazy chicks are or that they don’t listen or whatever. I told her the truth, but she still didn’t get it. So all I really have to say is UGH!

To be honest I missed Sarah more than ever. I didn’t just miss her because I was lonely, and had pulled a relationship Titanic over the last few months.

I missed her, because I missed her. And I’m exhausted from trying to convince myself and everyone else that I don’t miss her. I’d be taking the easy way out if I blamed all of these events on Sarah. That just isn’t my style. Sure she had something to do with it, no doubt, but what it comes down to is my inability to handle these situations in a manner that regular people would consider “proper”. I was really upset when she left, and my usual routine of tearing everything around me to shreds, just seemed like the best option. None of those girls would have ever been as good as she was in my mind. I knew that then, and I know that now. I just didn’t know what else to do.

Anyway, as I said in the last entry, the story isn’t over yet. My anger gets one more shot.

So Mexico is gone, but despite my efforts, she just doesn’t fucking get it. She keeps calling me, and sending me messages so all I can think to do is ignore her. It’s a classic maneuver. Take sand, insert face, then hope for the best. Sadly, this usually never works, and of course it didn’t. Then she gets angry. She is convinced that I’m fucking other girls.

I hope you all appreciate the irony of this situation. At this point I’m not actually fucking anybody, and she’s accusing me of cheating. Cheating! I fucking told this stupid sack of estrogen that I didn’t want anything to do with her. Now I’m cheating! What the fuck!

This just goes on and on by the way. Not for days, but for weeks. More or less the entire month of December. Here are a few examples of the text messages she sent me, since I won’t answer my phone.

“When did it get to the point where you cringe every time I try and talk to you?” That’s fucking creepy. How the fuck can she see me doing that from fucking Arizona?

“…Oh and tell your new fuck friend I said hi…dick!” Yeah that’ll hurt my feelings. Good one. Moments later I get this next one.
“I’m not some stupid blonde you know. I’m a brunette with brains.” Now that’s funny. Considering that you are a brunette, you’re acting pretty fucking stupid.

“I’m driven, and I have goals. None of those other skanks you fuck will ever hold a candle to me.” That’s an epic fail if I’ve ever heard one.

I’m not making this shit up, in case you were curious. These are all actual messages that I received from her, after I told her that we couldn’t date. She fucking crazy isn’t she? Sometime after this my buddy Tim took my phone when we were drunk and sent her a text message, after I had been berated by her for a good hour. He thought it would be pretty funny, and I’ll agree it is fairly hilarious to think about it now, but at the time I was pretty pissed about it. He took my phone and told her, “You made my room smell like butterflies.”

He sent this because we had been joking about how she did make my room smell like butterflies, rainbows, unicorns and all that gay fucking shit I can’t stand. But it backfired terrible, because that crazy whore thought that it meant I missed her. Fucking disaster!

So more crazy messages, just like the examples I have shown you, until I can’t stand it anymore. So I call her and I say again that I’m a fucking train wreck, a sinking ship, I’m going down in flames, whatever fucking metaphor you prefer, and that we’re not going to happen. Do you get it lady? We are not going to happen.

Something strange came over me, and I even offered to help her out if she moved here. Which sadly, she is. I said I’d introduce her to some people and help her get settled or whatever since I’m the only person she knows here. Probably a mistake on my part, but at the time it seemed like an ok idea. But at the end I reiterated that we would never happen.

She still didn’t get it. So I say we can be friends or nothing, does that make sense? Then she asks me to define friends. To which I respond, what the fuck do you think it means? Friends! The classic definition of friends. As in no fucking! Then she went off about how I was talking to other girls, and sleeping with them and shit. So my patients have run out at this point. I tell that worthless pile of cunt slut that up to this point she was the last girl that I’d had sex with, and that even if I was fucking other girls I can do whatever the fuck I want because I’d already told her that we weren’t going to be together! FUCK!

Think of every scene from every movie where some guy’s head explodes. Scanners is a good one. Anyway, think of that, and that is me at that moment. I then hung up the phone. She still sends me messages from time to time, but I’m not interested in talking to her.

Alright, so all of this shit with mexico is going on all the while princess is still around. The next time I see princess after the bean spilling incident, she still comes up to me and gives me a big hug, and I talk to her about my interesting week. I inform her I had kind of a shitty week, to which she inquires, “Because of the Mexico girl?” Hilarious. I say yes, and tell her that I broke it off with crazy face.

Then it was odd. We carried on our relationship like the whole incident never happened. Still lots of flirting, touching, and stuff. She’ll come up to me give me a big delicious hug and say she “loves me to bits”, or something like that. And yes, it still turns me to mush every time. So then I start to thinking, maybe all is not lost on this one. Maybe I can still salvage some sort of relationship with this chick. It wouldn’t be Sarah, but no one is going to be Sarah. I need to move on, Sarah had already moved on.

So we keep hanging out somewhat regularly as we had done before. Then on one particular evening, when princess, a few of our mutual friends, and I were all pretty drunk, I had an interesting conversation with one of the crew. It was at the very end of the evening, and we were all about to part ways. As I said we were all pretty fucking wasted so I can’t really remember how we got to this point in the conversation, but I certainly remember what followed.

It more or less consisted of him telling me about how we all see princess as this sisterly figure we all want to look out for. The first thing that came to my mind was that this guy must not be very good at paying attention, since the last thing I wasn’t to do with princess is think of her as my sister. I also thought I was totally obvious about it. Regardless, I humor him. He then continues that line of thought with how we all like to look out for her and stuff as a result. Right drunky I get it, we’re all friends and we look out for one another, what the fuck is your point? Then he mentions how she’s made some bad choices. Ok, now I’m intrigued.

Before I reveal what he said, I would like to thank alcohol for making people gratuitously, and unnecessarily honest for no fucking reason.

He then informs me of some gentlemen that she had engaged in sexual intercourse with, that he felt was a poor choice, and how he wished she would make better choices. I’m all ears. He names off 2 specific examples of guys she’s slept with fairly recently, and my jaw detaches from my face and falls to the ground.

That had done it. My blue balls burst right there on the spot, as the cage door swung open. I was unleashed on the world again.

He named 2 men that were also regulars at the bar I work at. This didn’t surprise me. They were men that I had to see all the fucking time, and I fucking hated them. For the record I already hated them before I found out they’d had sex with princess. After that I just hated them more.

These 2 guys are probably some of the dirtiest, scummiest, stupidest, frat boy pieces of shit I’ve ever seen. Picture the typical college frat guy, which I’ve already described, and age him a decade, and that is how I would describe these two guys. Still acting exactly the fucking same when they were stuffing nerds in their lockers and slipping sorority sluts pills so a big group of them could all gang bang some chick’s poor unfortunate vagina. Then make them big condescending pricks, since they’re butt hurt they never amounted to anything, which is why they still mow lawns and scoop french fries. I could keep going about how much I hate them, but it comes down to this. Everything that I hate about people, and of course, everything I hate about myself are all crammed into these 2 guys.

Then add the image of them fucking the girl I have a crush. Just the thought of their sweaty nasty fucking asses hovering over her, pawing and gnawing at her skin, only to wriggle their disease ridden cocks up inside her, and huff and puff until they bust a nut…it just makes me want to…it just makes me want to…ugh!

Or the thought of her sucking on those same disease ridden cocks, and swallowing their cum, and actually liking it! The whole thing makes we want to vomit!

So people how angry did this make me? HOW FUCKING ANGRY DID THIS MAKE ME!
Well…

It made me so angry I immediately wanted to go out and murder a litter of puppies. Fuck it, make it a couple litters of puppies. While I’m at it, throw a couple litters of kittens in their too. Then I want to personally strangle each one to death, savoring each whimper, moan, and struggling motion those little fluff balls produce. Just picture those furry little faces and big cute eyes. Go ahead fucking picture it. Now imagine those same cute little eyes fucking exploding from the pressure as I scream and bash their little bodies into the wall. Once I’m done murdering all the puppies and kittens I’d like to cut open all of their tiny little corpses and hate fuck their entrails until I fill each one up with jizz, like a fucking éclair from Dunkin Donuts.

After that I’ll gather all the cute jizz filled bodies and stuff them in a big frilly basket. I will swiftly take that basket to the hospital, and waltz right in to the children’s cancer ward. I’ll stand in the middle of the room and then proceed to pelt all of those pathetic bald mother fuckers with my collection of adorable cadavers packed full with my hateful sperm. When I run out of puppies and kittens to throw I’ll run up to each individual dieing child and smear the cuddly carrion all over their stupid little faces, that are no doubt terrified and dripping with jizz, just to make sure their last moments on Earth are traumatized and full of pain.

Hopefully I’ll make such a scene the cops will show up and murder me in a hail of gunfire as I proclaim that I am The God Of Fuck! Once I’m dead, I’ll sprout those wings of black and ascend into the sky. I’ll tear it asunder and drown the world in my molten jizz before I fly into the sun and put an end to myself as well.

This is how angry I can get.

But for the record, I actually like puppies and kittens.

OK DEEP BREATHS!

So yes the news made me pretty fucking upset, which just added onto my already present frustrations with mexico and everything else. But at least my rage was out again, which meant I had a way of releasing my tension. The fact that I talk about doing these terrible things ensures that I won’t do them. That was the whole point of this blog, in case you forgot.

So I didn’t kill any puppies or kittens, but what I did do was go out the next night, and the next night, and so on and get annihilated, and hate fuck whoever I could find. I was the God of Fuck again, and it felt good.

After a week or two of this I took a moment for self reflection. It occurred to me that I was a giant angry whore, and I’ve had sex with a fair amount of unsavory ladies in my time. Therefore, I decided it would be unfair for me to hate princess for her sexual decisions, when I probably do worse things. Sure, my image of her had been slightly sullied, but fucking whatever. I think to myself, “I’m fucking Mandrew god damnit! And If I want this chick I’ll fucking get her!” Honestly, the things that go through my head sometimes.

So I decide to send her flowers on her birthday, which was at the beginning of January. Once the flowers arrive I’ll tell her what’s been going through my head about her, and see what happens. Now I never fucking send flowers. Like ever. It’s just not my style. I think it’s stupid. Still, I decide to try it since it’s something I never do. Maybe it’ll work out.

So I buy the flowers, and have them delivered to her house on her birthday. When she gets them she immediately calls me. I was asleep. She tells me how much she likes them, and how thoughtful it was, and blah blah blah. I was going to tell her how I was feeling right then but I choked. I don’t know why, but I choked. So that ended poorly, but she told me she’d be at the bar later while I was working to celebrate and stuff, so I figured I’d talk to her then.

Sure enough, while I’m working she comes in ready to party. She gives me a big hug and gets all goopy on me again over the flowers. I choked again. She even came up to me again after all her friends were distracted to talk to me, and I choked a third time. What the fuck was wrong with me?

I realize now that I choked because, princess isn’t Sarah. There’s not much else to say. I don’t figure this out till later of course. I decided after that to stop being a pussy and just go fucking tell her. Anyway, I get busy and don’t get the chance to until later. Right when I’m finally going to do, what is it that I see? Well, I see princess making googly eyes at, and making out with one of the 2 gentlemen I mentioned earlier. She apparently really does like him, despite all the things I’ve observed.

Well, that’s it. That’s fucking it! How angry am I now? Go ahead and guess. How FUCKING ANGRY am I now!

Actually, it didn’t make me angry at all. I just didn’t fucking care. Kind of makes me laugh. Maybe I’m growing as a person. If that’s the guy she likes, then good for her. I just don’t have the energy to keep this up. Good for them I guess.

So that’s it folks. That’s the end of my story. And in case you were wondering, yes, this is the kind of shit that happens to me all the time. Still, I can’t complain. I intend to update this blog regularly, but probably not as frequently as I have been during this story. But if you’ve enjoyed what I’ve said, then please keep reading.

After all that shit I’m alone again, and that’s probably where I should be. I’ve spoken to a few girls since this all went down, but I haven’t really gone out with or slept with anyone. I’m not sure I can adequately explain just how exhausted I am. There’s just one more thing.

Dear Sarah,

Part of me hopes you’ve read all of this, and part of me hopes you’ll just keep living your life happily without any thoughts of me to complicate your situation. If you have been reading, I wonder if you’re so disgusted with me that we’ll never speak again, or if you actually do understand me like I felt you did when we were together.
There’s nothing I can say to let you know how sorry I am. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been honest with you from the start, and that I ruined what we might have had. At this point I would never dream of asking you to uproot your life for me, given the state I find myself in. I just want you to know how important our time together was to me, and that you’ve affected my life for the better. I felt like a better person when you were around. Never lose sight of your goals, and stay true that wonderful person I know you to be.

Love Always,

Andrew


Not long ago Sarah got in touch with me. It came as a welcomed surprise. I felt that calm come over me again, and I was happy for a second. I mentioned to her how I had been trying to take my writing more seriously. She said she was interested in reading some of my stuff. I told her that if she was really interested I’d send her some poems I had written to get her started while I polished some of my longer pieces.

I’ll post those poems soon, for you all to read.

Not long after she got in touch with me again to talk to me about my writing. She said that after she read my poems, she felt there was a great sadness in me. I paused. I didn’t know what to say.

Guna Die Alone part 13

On mexico’s last day, I was granted a small reprieve from her extremely irritating presence. She had to go take care of the last of her school nonsense which was apparently going to take all day.

Thank you Jesus! Even if you are make-believe.

After she leaves I quickly decide to ditch all my classes and go have lunch with my best friend Tim instead. After we eat we decide it’s on our best interest to go have a few cocktails as well.

I remember that princess had taken my gear to the bar I work at, so I suggest we go have a drink over there so I can pick up my stuff. Seemed like a great idea, since mexico was off doing her own thing and I wouldn’t have to worry about being seen with her.

When we get to the bar, who is there? Well princess is there, just hanging out on her day off. This is where I must remind the audience that this is mexico’s last day in town. In less than 24 hours she’ll be gone and I’ll be off the hook.

At this point I turn back into that horny puppy figure and I plop myself down on a stool next to princess and we immediately start bonding over the metal music she had brought into the bar to play. Tim and I order some drinks, and nothing exciting happens at all. Then finally it’s all over.

The bartender who was working at the time just flat out asks me if my girlfriend was here. Now I knew all my co-workers knew about mexico, and they only sort of knew she was coming, since I was so shocked at first I couldn’t keep it all to myself. They just didn’t know when exactly.

So not only did this person ask me about mexico right in front of princess, but they start going off about all this shit like, “Did you pork her?”

I’m so furious all I can do is shake my head.

“Did you dump her?”

I shake my head.

“You porked her then dumped her?”

My hands are shaking. I shake my head.

“Or did you dump her then pork her? That’s terrible.”

There was a lot more in there too, but I’m fairly certain I blacked part of it out due to rage. I could feel the God of Fuck scratching around inside my eyeballs, just waiting for the opportunity to jump out and decapitate everyone with his penis.
Meanwhile princess is just sitting there listening. I didn’t even need to say anything. She knew exactly what had been going on. And it’s not like I broke a promise to this girl or anything. I never told her how I felt anyway, so it wasn’t like I lied, but she got a glimpse of what I really was, even though I was in the process of changing what that meant. Only days before I had slept with her in her bed, only to then go out and hate fuck some other bitch. That was it, my whole deal had just unraveled.

AND I WAS SO GOD DAMN CLOSE! It was the last fucking day. I should have fucking known better than to go anywhere near my place of business.

I thought about it some more after that, and I’m pretty sure princess knew the whole time anyway. The bartender that spilled the beans is pretty good friends with princess and I would imagine that they would have told princess while they were hanging out before hand.

Why can’t anyone mind they’re own fucking business! Is it that fucking hard not to open your big stupid fucking faces and talk about other people’s affairs? Talk about your own shit and leave mine out of it, fucking shit!

Though really I can’t get mad at them. I shouldn’t have waited so long to tell her how I was feeling, and this whole little game I was playing was ill-conceived from the get go.

Secretly, I knew I’d never get away with any of this nonsense. I just wanted to try it out, because well, fuck it. Fuck everything. Fuck everyone.

In all honesty I knew princess wouldn’t make me happy. I know myself well enough that as soon as I got this chick I wouldn’t fucking want her anymore, because that’s how I am. I’d be much happier being pissed off about fucking up the whole deal and never getting this chick, than I would if I had succeeded. It’s stupid, but it’s true. So in a strange way I’d actually won.

This still did not change the fact at that moment in the bar I was so fucking angry I almost couldn’t speak. My chance with princess was over, and all I wanted to do was unleash myself on the world.

I’d sprout wings of black and soar into the sky and tear it asunder. Then as I float there I’d drop my pants and rub one out, only to spray down an ocean of fiery jizz and smother the entire world with everything I can’t stand the sight of.

I am the God of Fuck.

Or so I would have liked to be. But at that moment sitting there, I could do none of those things. My beast was restrained, and my emotional blue balls persisted. Every once of anger I had dripped and oozed its way into my stomach, the way snot drips down the back of your throat when your sick. I felt like I was going to be sick.

All I could do was leave. I didn’t say goodbye, I just left. There was another girl waiting for me at home.

Of course mexico wanted to go out on the town the last night she was here. As I’m sure you can guess I was not in the mood. She wouldn’t stop fucking badgering me about it, however, so I finally agreed. It’s important for you to understand that at this point there is nothing I can do to make myself not be a big bucket of inconsolable rage. What made it worse was that all this inconsolable rage was just marinating in my stomach making me feel like death. The only thing I could think to do was get drunk.

It doesn’t take a genius to imagine that I was terrible company that evening. I barely uttered a word to her the entire time. Anytime I would have normally contributed to the conversation I drank from my glass, or filled my mouth with a shot of whiskey. I don’t even remember where I took her that night, but it didn’t matter. Not anymore. Every time she got up to use the bathroom I did a shot or pounded my drink. While she was there I drank as fast as my body would allow me to do so I’d feel as little as possible. But getting that drunk just made me meaner.

Granted I couldn’t express the full extent of my rage at this point, but I could still be mean. If I’d been able to I would have raged all over until I was finished, then I would have felt better, and maybe we wouldn’t have had such a terrible time. Anytime I did say something to her, because she’s a girl and is incapable of just sitting in silence, it was cold and cruel.

She pestered me the whole night to tell her what the fuck was bothering me, and of course I wouldn’t because why the fuck would I tell her anything? I didn’t even like her, I didn’t want her to be here. I didn’t want to be here. I just didn’t know what else to do with myself. I could have left I suppose, but as I said from the start, I am a professional when it comes to self destruction.

Finally, as we were walking to another bar, she starts pestering me again. I finally say something along the lines of how I don’t really like her, but it doesn’t matter because I can be as mean as I want to her and she’ll still come home with me and let me fuck her.

I was really drunk, but that’s more or less what I said. She didn’t like that one bit. She was pretty offended actually, as she should have been. I just shrugged at her and put out my hand. She looked at it for a moment, but finally took it and held my arm the whole way to the next bar. And yes folks, she let me fuck her when we got home.

And this ladies and gentlemen, is why men will always rule the Earth.

All you female readers at home are probably outraged right now at these things that I have said. You’re probably making claims about what a horrible person I am, and how mistaken I am, or at least that this does not apply to you. But deep down you know I’m right.

Men haven’t been oppressing women since the dawn of time, simply because we have more upper body strength, or that we’re smarter or any of that stupid petty bullshit. If anything, you ladies are smarter than men, and you have a better pain tolerance than we do. You’re also better at multi-tasking. Men are a barely organized group of animals.
Do you really think because we’re better athletes than women that we could have successfully kept the patriarchy going as long as we have?

If you do think so then please just kill yourself so you don’t give birth to equally stupid children. Nothing elaborate, nothing fancy, just please go kill yourself in any manner you prefer.

Men will always be in charge because we’ve realized that women are our flaw. What I mean is that all men know we don’t need women. We want women. But women, no matter what they think need men. And again if you’re being closed minded and thinking I’m just being needlessly sexists then I’ll remind you that poison is cheap, and there are plenty of cars just waiting to run you over.

Women don’t need men because they’re weaker or stupider than men. Men are weaker and stupider than women. Women need men because without us they would have no purpose. They would have nothing to fight against, nothing to band together against, no one to serve, no one to take care of, no one to love, no one to hate, no one to have love them, and of course no one to have hate them. This is how we define our lives.

If somehow all the women mysteriously died, and men discovered a way to reproduce without them life would go on like nothing had ever happened. We’d keep fighting, working, and fucking. Nothing would change.

But ladies it doesn’t have to be this way. As I said women are our flaw, because we don’t need you we want you. For women men are willing to kill, rape, and murder. We’ll rage wars and commit atrocities. We’ll create art and invent things that were once thought to be impossible just to impress you. We’ll climb unscalable mountains, dive deep into an uncharted abyss, and traverse impossible landscapes. We’ll fight monsters, we’ll become monsters, we’ll settle down and devote ourselves to you. We’ll be kind and gentle. We’ll love you. We will betray each other, just because we desire you so much. This is the flaw of man.

There’s infinite power in this flaw ladies, and you control the heart of it. Even though men may always run the world, women will always run us.

When I got back to my house with mexico I wasted no time in hate fucking her. I imagined that I was the incarnation of death, and that my penis was the scythe that death carries. I imagined I was reaping her soul.

Think of that scene from the movie Seven, when Kevin Spacey makes that guy have sex with the prostitute while wearing the jagged metal penis spear contraption. For a moment my entire body became this phallic instrument of death, and it had only one place to go.

I hate fucked this girl until I passed out. I have vague memories of her trying to shake me awake, but I’m not sure. All I could do was fall asleep.

Now I could end the story here, but I’d be lying to you if I said it was over.

There’s just a little more to go. So if you can, hang in there. We’re almost done.

Guna Die Alone part 12

The morning I left princess’ house to go meet up with my friends before mexico got into town, I had accidentally left some of my winter paraphernalia in her living room. I called her not long after and asked her if she would be nice enough to drop my stuff off at my work and I’d get it when I had time. Princess lives on the exact opposite side of town as me, so getting over there is a pain in the ass. She said sure. This is important for later.

So by the time that mexico got into town I had disposed, if you will, of my other lady friends.

You already know the story of how feminist and I parted ways. I had no intention of ever calling that crazy cunt stain ever again. Someone really needs to convince that bitch to take a valium or something. Either that or her ex-husband, which doesn’t surprise me at all that he left, should show up and shake that bitch till she settles down. It really works I’m not kidding.

Gypsy actually took care of this process for me. The last time we hung out she pulled me aside as I was leaving and told me she really wasn’t looking to get attached to anyone. This didn’t really come as a surprise. She did say she was still down to hang out and stuff, which was her way of saying that she was still fine with getting drunk together and having some sex. Normally that’s just what I want to hear, but I took the opportunity to tell her that if we kept hanging out I would get attached to her, and we should just call it quits. It wasn’t a total lie, but there was definitely some truth bending involved.

Then there was stripper. Well, to be honest I kind of forgot about her.

This leads us back to mexico’s visit. I feel I should also include some of the things I told mexico before she came for her visit. I realized that my relationship with this chick was about to have many Hindenburg like qualities to it, so I thought I should say something. I told her something along the lines of, “if you want to move out here for school that’s fine, but don’t move out here for me.” I then explained to her what a fucking wreck I was, which is true obviously, and that I really couldn’t be her boyfriend. I’d show her around and that’s it. She said ok I understand.

But really folks, when a girl says ok I understand, to something you explain to them logically, they don’t really understand. What they really mean is, “Ok I’m going to change you!”

When will you organic blow-up dolls understand that we don’t want you to change us, for fuck’s sake. I want to stay just as I am. If in case I had just received a full frontal lobotomy from H.O.L.E, then perhaps I would be susceptible to change, but it just isn’t so.

In case you were curious as to what H.O.L.E is, well it’s supernatural phenomenon that could be classified right next to things such as the Tooth Fairy, or the Boogey Man, Santa Claus, and probably Jesus. H.O.L.E. stands for harlots occasionally love evil, though occasionally should probably be changed to every minute of every day, but that wouldn’t fit into the acronym now would it. H.O.L.E is a group of wicked women that sneak into men’s bedrooms at night and remove part of their brain. You see, every man has a part in his brain that tells him it’s a bad idea to marry girls we don’t like, which is all girls more or less. H.O.L.E goes in and cuts that part of the brain out, which explains why men get married. I think it should be put right into Mother Goose and shit to warn the young lads of the perils that will come. H.O.L.E’s members include various evil figures such as, Bitcherella, Whorenstein, Slutzilla, Skankosaurus, and who could forget Cunta Kinte. Look out fellas, some holes just aren’t worth it.

The moral of the story is please don’t try and change us, but if I’m going to try and argue or reason with a woman, it would probably be more productive to go bash my head into pulp against a wall, or light myself on fire. But whatever, I told mexico how I felt and she didn’t listen.

It was my fault though really, because I hate fucked her. And as we all learned earlier, when I hate fucked her, in her mind it translated to:

“Oh he’s hate fucking me. He must have just been kidding. He totally loves me!”

SIGH.

On the second day mexico gets all excited to go out on a “real” date with me or something fucking retarded like that. I say whatever and take her somewhere, since I’m trying really hard to focus on the fact that all I have to do is avoid people I know while she’s here. This is a lot harder than it seems.

Fort Collins is a very small place, and I’ve lived here most of my life. As a result I know a fuck ton of people, and it’s hard to go anywhere without running into someone I know, but more importantly running into someone I know that’s going to tell princess that I’m out with this crazy mexico slut.

Here’s a fun example. My friends and I more or less hang out at the same bar every week. Surfside 7. On one particular occasion my friends and I were in the bar talking, and after I took a good look around, I paused whatever stupid bullshit we were discussing. I informed everyone to look around. Between the 4 of us we had, dated, fucked, made out with, or at least done something with every girl in the place. It made me sigh to myself.

It’s an odd feeling knowing that you’ve probably fucked all of your friends indirectly through other people. It’s like that 3 degrees of Kevin Bacon shit you hear about on TV, except this involved your genitals and a lot of tears.

So everyone in Fort Collins knows everybody and we’ve all fucked each other, give or take. This is my dilemma trying to keep shit secret. To start, we go out to dinner. Unfortunately this bitch is all about fancy shit, which makes me sad because I’m poor. But I still manage to use this to my advantage. Since the majority of the people I fraternize with are also poor, I take her to an expensive restaurant, and we’re safe.

Side note. Do you remember earlier when I said something about how this girl reminded me of what a philistine I actually am? Well, it’s true.

Right off the bat I’ll say that I’m a PBR drinking, ramen noodle eating, duct tape fixing, dirty clothes wearing, shit hole living, rocker kid. I don’t like fancy, or ritzy shit. I like to be surrounded by a little filth, because it makes me feel cozy. I enjoy the fact that my home is ancient, and falling apart, and that I’m crammed in here with 2 other guys that are equally filthy and ridiculous as I am.

She is the exact opposite, just another reason why it isn’t meant to be. You should have seen all the shit she brought with her for a fucking 3 day trip. Honestly, she brought more stupid girl shit with her on this trip than all of my possessions combined. Why does one need so much luggage? Not too mention her monstrous make-up bag. It took her so long to get ready for anything. Now I’m aware that it takes women longer than men to get ready for stuff, in general, that’s fine. But this girl, good lord. She just had so many products to apply to herself I’m shocked we ever went out at all.

Don’t get me wrong I can appreciate when I woman takes some time to make herself up. When a chick is really trying to look hott, they do nothing but succeed as far as I’m concerned, and that’s nice every so often. She went through this super rigorous make-up process every time she left the house. I even saw her make herself up, go out and take care of her grad school stuff, come back to my house take a second shower and make herself up again. What the fuck is going on here!

I like it when girls look the way they do naturally. That’s what I like. This mexico chick was not that in the least. Not too mention, she fucking made my house smell like butterflies, and rainbows and unicorns and all that other gay fucking shit I don’t like with the gallons of perfume and hair products she had on her all the fucking time.

I want my house to smell like booze, cigarettes, and MEN. Because that’s what a man house is supposed to smell like, not fucking gay ass butterflies and rainbows!

So after dinner we go to the movies, and the coast is still clear. She, of course, wants to go to a bar. I definitely could use a drink at this point since she’s driving me crazy, but where can I take her where we’ll be safe from people who know me? I’m sure as fuck not taking her to the bar I work at, or to the place I normally hang out at on my nights off. She suggests we go to the juice bar.

The fucking juice bar, that’s brilliant! I had earlier mentioned we had a bar in town that sold booze filled smoothies and slushies and shit like that. Now I hate that fucking place and never go there. I want my booze to taste like booze, not some pansy ass fucking faggoty smoothy with fruit and shit. It’s the perfect place to take her. The odds I’ll run into anyone I know there is slim.

I’m a fucking moron.

We roll into this place and there are literally 2 customers inside. One is this girl I know that works at a bar just a few doors down. It’s not a big deal though, because I never fucked her, and she is in a different social circle than what’s been going on in this blog. Still, I did say I couldn’t go anywhere. Guess who the other is. Go on guess.

The other customer is none other than stripper.

Jesus fucking Christ! Seriously? Fucking Seriously?

Now remember at the start of this entry I said I kind of forgot about stripper? Well, that’s exactly what happened. I hadn’t called her in a while, but I never officially broke it off with her either. And I can tell you only seconds after she saw me walk in with mexico, I could tell by the look on her face that she had indeed been sitting by the phone waiting for me to call for god knows how long.

At any moment I expect fireballs to fly out of her eyes and incinerate me. Or for her to unleash the legions of demons and fiends I know she has hiding in her vagina, to come fly across the bar and tear me to pieces.

Still, up until this point I’d had a pretty good run with the whole secrecy thing. I wasn’t exactly sure of what to do, so I just play it cool and I sit down with mexico at the other side of the bar and order some drinks. I wasn’t about to let some skank ass ho, drive me out of anywhere.

The bartender walks up and takes our orders. He is mid sized fat man, with crooked buck teeth, and a balding head. He is not very attractive. I’m not being needlessly mean here. His appearance will be important soon.

At any moment I also expect stripper to walk over to us and slap me or something, or make a scene, but she never does. Instead she does something far more hilarious.

So I’m sitting there with mexico doing my best to get drunk, because frankly this shit is outrageous, when I notice my beer is empty. As we all know empty beers are sub par for getting drunk so I flag down the bartender for a fresh one. I run into a problem when I discover the bartender is gone. Oh well, I thought, he’ll be back in a minute. Lot’s of minutes go by and both me and mexico are like what the fuck, where is this guy. At this point he’d been gone for about half an hour, and I was seriously on the verge of just hoping the bar and getting us new drinks myself. At this point I notice that stripper is also gone. Ah yes, the plot gets grosser.

I ask the other girl, who works down the road, where everybody went. She shrugs, since she isn’t sure, but goes to investigate, since we’re all thirsty. She goes into the back room, only to return very quickly looking terrified.

That’s right folks, stripper was in the back room with that ugly ass chud spite fucking him on account of me. Just imagining that guy naked in any way shape or form just gives me the willies.

As I said before stripper was really fucking smoking hott, so I don’t really know what to say except, Oh the hilarity!

I hope that made her feel better, because I certainly don’t give a fuck. I think a slap in the face or making a scene in front of me and my “new girlfriend” would have been a better payback than a spite fuck. Whatever though, girl logic is inextricable from craziness so who the fuck knows.

Good for the ugly guy though. I bet he had a good time.

After that I closed my own tab, stole a pint glass of the shelf, and called it a night. There might also have been more drunken hate fucking, but I’m not sure.

In part 13 someone spills the beans. Not only do they spill the beans but they piss and shit all over them and rub it in my face.