Guna Die Alone part 3

A lot of whiskey and 5 women. That's what I promised you, and that's what you shall receive.

After my conversation with Sarah I became the God of Fuck. Cake and Sodomy...the works.

Fuck her. Fuck her for making me feel all goopy and vulnerable. That's crybaby faggot shit!

Fuck women. Fuck women for being the keepers of the grail. The fucking holy grail isn't a chalice, it's that moist spot between your legs, I can't say it enough. And that fucking thing makes everyone go crazy. Especially me!

Fuck my friends. Fuck them for always trying to make me feel better about shit. How am I supposed to destroy myself with you fucking people badgering me all the god damn time! Rock bottom can in fact be an accomplishment if done well. And I certainly rock the bottom like a champ...ha!

Fuck my parents. Fuck my parents, because...well...fuck my parents.

Fuck me!

I am the God of Fuck.

For the next 3 months I go on a rampage. And the best part about this rampage is that I keep it a secret from everyone who knows me. From June to September I'm drunk every single fucking night. Whiskey is my family now.

Whiskey is my Ed McMahon. My Paul Schafer. Robin to my Batman. Pinky to my Brain. Joe C. That little guy that used to hang out with Kid Rock, who incidentally always reminded me of Tattoo from Fantasy Island. Whiskey is the Tonto to my Lone Ranger, except less racist. And of course whiskey is my Vanna White. Though if my whiskey had actually been Vanna the only thing I'd have her doing is sucking on my cock.

The only time I've ever drank more is when Halo and I downed a handle or more a day in the heroin den, but that's a different story all together.

I remained somewhat chipper at work, since as a bouncer I got to be mean to nice people for no reason, be really fucking mean to stupid assholes, occassionally toss some mother fucker on his face, steal drinks, yell my fucking face off at the end of each night, and in general rain on everybody's parade. It really is the perfect job for me. Can you imagaine that I worked in customer service for 8 years? What a fucking joke.

At the end of each night, the co-workers and I proceeded to drink as much whiskey as we could before the sun came up, though sometimes we told the sun to fuck itself and kept going. God's flashlight my fucking ass! Then we'd eventually BUI our way home. That was my three day work week in a nutshell. The rest of my week consisted of me at the bar getting shit-canned.

At this time I've also decided to fuck anything I can get my hands on.

In case any of you were wondering, if you put a cantelope in the microwave for a bit, it's almost like a vagina. And it doesn't talk to you, ask you stupid questions, whine about cuddling, and most importantly, it never says no.

You may have noticed that I work out a fair amount of my aggression by hate fucking. I hate fucked the shit out of every girl that could stand me. My charm was at it's peak for sure. The best part about all this hate fucking was that I hate fuck some tramp and then hate myself for doing it afterwards, which would then enrage me again and cause me to go out and hate fuck someone else. It's like one of those vicious cycles retarded fat people or drug addicts are always crying about. Too bad they're a bunch of fucking losers and can't do anything. If you're going to destroy something there's a right way and a wrong way.

Ok before I distract myself any further with how angry I am, I'll cut to the story. There were 5 women of note. Gypsy, striper, feminist, mexico, and princess. I'm using these fake names because I'm going to say some mean things. Shocking, but bear with me. The last thing I need is for any of these worthless whores to read my shit and come bitch at me in my private time. Now unless they're fucking retarded, which in some cases I suspect that they are, it won't be hard to figure out who I'm talking about. Ok, on with the show.

So in September it was like I woke up from a comma. A really drunken, I need to go get tested for STD's kind of comma. Clean as a whistle, in case you were curious. Fuck you Karma!

I woke up because gypsy came back into town. I call her that because she would often make references to herself as that kind of character. Now I actually liked gypsy quite a bit. I'd known her for a number of years. We had some classes together, we had mutual friends, and she sang in a pretty cool band. Well cool for Fort Collins anyway. They won battle of the bands! Whoop-de-fucking-do losers. Anyhow, the past January or so, she left the country and did her last semester of college abroad. Though I think she wanted to leave so she could wander and play music with interesting strangers, which is something a gypsy might do. Or a lame ass fucking hipster. But whatever.

The point is she left before anything could happen, and that displeased me. All of a sudden half a year later, there she is. I could date this girl, I said to myself. She was the kind of chick I could take to the bar. She could drink, and she just said some hilarious shit. Watching her sing though...totally fucking sexy. Knocked me on my ass. Of course she probably wouldn't have appreciated the fact that I had already met, and was fucking striper. But maybe had I explained it with all my eloquence and tact? Yeah, I didn't think so either.

I had met striper at the bowling alley. It was a classy relationship with this chick from the start. She wrote her phone number down on a little piece and gave it to the bartender to give to me, before running off. For a big giant slut bag, she certainly was shy. When the bartender handed me the number, I knew it was one of those, I'll get laid as soon as I dial you, kind of things.

On top of that she was pretty fucking hott. My friends all agreed. She was a saucy little red head, or fire crotch which I prefer, and just tight all over. I had my arm around her on our first date, and guys still came up to us to hit on her. Despite that she was all over me. This is how hott she was. I didn't mind the other guys by any means. I went back to her house and hate fucked her, so I win losers!

I'm sure you've all used your masterful powers of deduction to figure out the origins of her nickname. And if you haven't, then do us all a favor and go take a bath with your hair dryer, you fucking retards!

So yes, she was a stripper. When I got her number I did not know this. I called her a few days later and while we were working out a time to meet she mentioned that she had to go to work in Denver, but we could meet for a drink during the day. That was that. When I hung up the phone it clicked. Now think to yourselves for a moment. What kind of job would a woman have, in the evening, on the weekends, that's worth commuting the 50 or 60 miles out of town when gas is fucking ridiculous?

OH! She must take her clothes off for money! I win again.

Now I couldn't have given any less of a shit that she was a stripper. The only problem I had with her, besides the fact that she was a big bag of DUH, was that she had 2 kids. 2 kids of the young variety. She even had their footprints tattooed on her legs. Ummm creepy?

Here was my issue with that. First and foremost, I didn't want to have a negative affect on her kids. As much of a monster as I can be at times, the last thingf that I wanted to be was some phantom father like figure that would appear out of no where, fuck their mom, and vanish again. I have enough issues with my own father to not want to do that to anyone. Ever.

Secondly, I'M NO ONES FUCKING BABY DADDY! You fucking sluts can lie about everything and we're so fucking stupid we'll believe you. But the one thing you can't lie about, is wanting a baby daddy for your fucking brood. Something in your wires just won't let you have your nasty little ilk slithering around without some sort of patriarch figure overseeing things. Even if he's a usless fucktard like myself.

Luckily it never came to that. Though there is something to be said for hate fucking a tramp in the ass underneath pictures of her kids. Oh well, they'll be in our shoes soon enough.

Funny side strory. The last time we had sex, we did anal in my room. For the record it was her idea. Now it wasn't the first time I'd done anal, but my rule is if you don't want anything in your ass, then I don't want anything in mine. After that we can talk. That just means I never ask for anal, but god damn it if I won't do it. God gave women vaginas so that mankind could use and enjoy them. Nothing is more American than a vagina. They're right up there with whiskey and apple pie. 3 of my mosy favorite things. Though I've never fucked a pie. I stick to girls and fruit personally. But I would fuck whiskey if it were a women.

Now when we were done I noticed I had some poo on me.

Yes people poo! It had never happened before, I was kind of shocked. Now one thing I did really like about this girl is that she had some man-like qualities. Specifically, she fell asleep almost instantly after sex. That's awesome by the way. Cuddling is for fags. And girls apparantly.

So there I am sitting with some shit on my dick and a little bit on the sheets, next to this passed out trollop. I go to the bathroom clean myself off, and pretend like I'm not about to fall asleep next to the village bicycle in a pile of shit and semen. As I said, it was nothing but class when it came to the two of us.

That was a rough week for me actually. On top of the poo sheets, I had caught my roomate jerking off in my room. One of the hazards of being the only one with a computer. I was so shocked all I could say was, "That's my chair! I sit there. I sit there everyday!" His excuse was...are you ready..."But I had a spank rag."

BUT I HAD A SPANK RAG!

And some people wonder why I hate everyone.

Also during that same week, my very good friend Johnny Lancer got blacked-out drunk and erupticoned all over my room. That's my way of saying he vomitted all over my shit. He was so drunk I gave him my room to sleep in and I took the couch. That'll teach me to do nice things for people. When he wakes up he informs me that he puked all over the place. And I do mean everywhere. On the bed, on the blanket, on the floor, on my shoes, on my backpack, a little on the TV, some comic books, my fan, and well you get the idea. I was sad.

In a very short amount of time I got shit, vomit, and semen. This people is the story of my life.

Anyway, we cleaned up the vomit with some cleansers and I was thrilled when the smell went away. I'm doing my damndest to pretend like someone wasn't masturbating in my chair, especially as I sit here typing. Though I do still come home and find porn left out on my screen.

Fuck I hate everyone.

As for the sheets I didn't even bother. I took them off and gave all my laundry to my mother and told her to do it. She didn't seem to mind.

My mother and I have a special relationship. She hides how much she's dissapointed in me, and in return I don't tell her about all the fucked-up things I do. Like sodomy for example, that results in me getting shit on myself. Thanks mom.

Honestly, I don't know why every woman doesn't want to date me.

Anyway back to the story. So gypsy reappears, and it's on. Now this is what's going to keep you coming back for part 4 if you've managed to read this far.

At this point my womanizing hasn't peaked. In the past I just leap-frogged my way from one girl to the next, always just having one at a time. But this time, I think to myself, why should I. I've been fucked over enough, I want to see just how much I can get away with. So I start running both of these girls at once.

Eventually, I'd come to run all of these girls at once, which of course, much like in Shakespeare, would lead to my downfall.

Wonder how this ends? Keep reading.