Guna Die Alone part 9

By now the sun had already set, and I imagined my friends already safely back in America.

Meanwhile I’m sitting on a couch in a condo that is much nicer than anything I’ve ever lived in. My shirt was misplaced, I’m covered in sand and tequila, and yet periodically some chick will saunter over and suck on my face.

I had earlier accepted the fact that I had been left behind. It was really my fault though, for running off. Consequences still didn’t matter to me, however, because I was still on vacation. Actually, I didn’t care if I ever made it back. My life back home was bunk. All it consisted of was me being angry at everything and everyone all the time. Why not just say fuck it and stay. I thought maybe I’d get a job as a bouncer at a strip club. I could deal coke and be useless just like the rest of them. Or maybe I could work at one of the taco stands and feed all the fat assed Americans when they come down on the weekends. Then I’d marry the owner’s daughter and inherit the business. What’s the worst that could happen? They deport me? Back to America…oh the tragedy!

In case you hadn’t realized, I was really fucking sauced. Work in a taco stand? What a fucking joke. I had enough money left in my wallet from my weekend to put the entire town through college with a meal plan and some spending cash. This place was extremely poor, and the only reason it’s economy survived was because American’s came down on their days off to exploit it. I saw it happen while I was there. I had been a part of it. The whole thing made me sick. My anger would follow me here. Also, my anger wasn’t gone. It was just sleeping, like a grizzly bear shot full of tranquilizers.

Sure it’s harmless now, but when it wakes up its going to be really fucking pissed off.

I had to go home. But how?

I had several more fantasies about hitching a ride with some random Mexicans back to the other town, hoping they wouldn’t decide to robe the stranded American. That isn’t me being racists either. When I decide to be racists you’ll fucking know. I say that because if I were them, and I saw me stranded and alone trying to find my friends, not only would I rob me, but I’d beat the shit out of me. After that I’d gang bang my asshole and smash my face into the ground until all my teeth are knocked out, so I could give everyone head. That’s right people. Ass to mouth. Then I’d toss me in the middle of the desert and leave me there.

I also imagined wandering there on foot. It couldn’t have been more than 20 miles. Then it occurred to me that I’m a fat pampered suburban kid that’s never even gone camping. I could probably have built my own airplane out of Dos Equis bottles and refried bean cans faster than I could traverse the desert in the dark. Anyway by then my friends would already have been gone.

I wasn’t mad at all though. We had a pretty decent buddy system, but at the end of the day it was every man for himself. I went off on my own and I had to deal with the consequences. It was ok though. I knew I’d figure something out.

Even with that looming over my head I didn’t care all that much. My vacation wasn’t over yet. I still felt fantastic.

Now imagine me, as I had described myself before. All shirtless and disheveled, covered in dirt and booze, tattooed and surely, sitting in this extremely nice condo, making out with this chick. Now imagine that we’re surrounded by all of her friends, and a decently sized group of guys that I would describe as chads.

Now if you’re unfamiliar with that term, just think about the most cliché stereotypical fraternity guy. Think of a popped collar on a pink, or baby blue button down shirt. Imagine a gold encrusted crucifix hanging around their neck. Jesus loves gold for the record. Imagine a sideways hat, pants that hang down around their ass, and maybe even a barbed wire armband tattoo. They have hip hop playing on the stereo, of course, and they’re drinking Keystone Light. Occasionally, a few of them might bust out a Swisher Sweet and light up. This sounds really stupid doesn’t it, but it’s all true.

These guys are my mortal enemies back home in Fort Collins. And it’s amusing, since they outnumber me 10 to 1. Ok, so it’s not as dramatic as mortal enemies, but it’s just obnoxious to be surrounded by a culture you can’t relate to in the least. Especially when you think it’s outrageously superficial and stupid, on top of being a fabrication. Sometimes I do feel like I’m beset on all sides by foes. Even though my "culture" is just as stupid.

It's kind of like the dude in Omega Man, or I Am Legend. The difference being that I don’t like to shoot children with guns like Charlton Heston did, and Will Smith…well…Will Smith just needs to die so he’ll stop making music and movies that are fucking Horrible. Seriously, he’s fucking terrible and you’re a fucking retard if you think he’s awesome.

According to Mexico, these guys had been trying to hook up with her and her friends all weekend. They had had poor luck. This was also according to her.

Then throw me into the mix. I roll in looking the way that I do, gulping down straight whiskey, and sucking down Marlboro reds (which I affectionately call coffin nails) like it’s my job. Then factor in that I’m getting the majority of the female attention in the room. I got a lot of attention from mexico, obviously, and I spent the rest of the time being charming to her friends. As I said earlier, one of the best ways to get with a chick is to win over all her friends. And that’s what I did.

Just think of that first big Spice Girls song that came out back in the late 90’s. “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends” or some stupid shit like that. If you’re curious as to how I remember that, well then all I can say is…puberty…and The Spice Girls. You figure it out.

I always liked to imagine that that song was about some girl telling you to bang her and all her friends, because that is something some dumb slut would tell you to do. Then I remember how much I hate the Spice Girls, and their shitty pop music, and that bunk British invasion shit, and everything associated with them in the music industry. So these days when I hear that song I imagine hate fucking all those dirty cunts and choking them to death afterwards. Though maybe I should choke them while I fuck them in the hopes that their vaginas might clench up a bit more from all the pressure as I squeeze their lives away. They might get tight enough that I’d actually get sauce. That way everybody wins. Horrible bitches dead, and Mandrew gets an orgasm. Horay!

Anyhow, those guys weren’t fond of me. But really, what the fuck were they going to do? The answer to that question is, not a god damn thing. Still, I was being oddly polite. Most likely because I was in such a good mood. Besides, it’s not my fault they didn’t have anything interesting to say, or that they suck at picking up chicks. It’s social Darwinism, and only the strong get laid.

Nothing too exciting happens after that. We hang out for a while, until the girls decide they want to go out to the bar. I tagged along of course.

At this point my mood gets even better, because when we get to the bar who do I find? My friends, that’s who. Fuck yeah people! A small group of my friends were worried that I disappeared, so they stayed behind in a rental car to look for me. The fact that, out of all the bars I could have gone to, they just happen to run into me was fucking magic. It was a glorious man reunion of dry humping and screaming in victory. After that we decided to stay an extra night and fucking party.

We hung out at the bar for a while, until mexico and I ran off on our own back to her room. She made a makeshift bed out of blankets and pillows on the balcony of the condo, that overlooked the ocean. This is when I boned her. So romantic.

This was the first girl since Sarah that I didn’t hate fuck. It wasn’t that I thought this chick was that awesome, in fact, she’s the type of girl I wouldn’t have given much thought to had I met her in Fort Collins, but as I said I was in such a good mood. My rage was still sleeping.

So we had sex on a balcony overlooking the sea, in the middle of Mexico, and it was awesome. One of the best sexual experiences I’ve had. No sauce, of course, but still it was pretty damn fun. Not too mention I was never expecting to see this chick ever again, which made it even better. No strings is a wonderful thing. So I thought anyway.A few hours later the sun came up, and my friends retrieve me one more time, and it’s back to America.

It was a really long way home.

Out of the whole 4 day trip I had slept maybe 12 hours, and eaten about 3 meals. By the time we finally got back to Fort Collins, a good 18 hours after leaving, I just collapsed hoping to never wake up again. I knew what would happen if I did.

The very next day my rage was awake again, and being angry at everyone and hating everything seemed to be the most natural practice in the world. And that’s because it was. My hangover from the trip lasted for days, and I suddenly had all this responsibility to see to. School, and work were there again, and I had to be around those things I can’t stand. You know, what are they called? Oh yea, people. Fucking people. Something was slightly different though, I had a hard time describing it.

In Mexico my rage was a sleeping beast. When I got back home, my rage was awake again, it was hungover and it was really pissed off. The difference was, that it was behind bars. It was all caged up. I was angrier than ever, but I had a hard time expressing it.

Everything in my life kept coming back to semen. I had emotional blue balls. I needed to burst.

I looked around at the 3 girls I was entertaining and I hated all of them. I needed to do something. But what?

Now somewhere in my drunken state in Mexico, there had apparently been some phone number exchanging with mexico the girl.

Sometimes I wonder why I do some of the things I do.

I send her a message asking if her and her friends got home alright. I seriously regret that decision since it spawned the whole shit storm you’ll hear about soon. She responded back and we reminisced a bit about our trip and blah blah blah.

Then she starts calling and texting me all the time. I’m unsure of what to do at this point. Then I think to myself, what the fuck. I hate the women at my disposal anyway, and this chick lives in Arizona. I’ll never see her again probably.

I’m a fucking moron by the way.

So I start talking to her on the phone. Not only am I talking to her on the phone, but I’m sweet talking the shit out of her. It makes me sick to my stomach to relate some of the things I said to this girl, but I will say this. Just imagine all the sweetest most vomit inducing shit I guy could say to a girl, you know, everything those dumb bags of vagina want to hear, and that’s what I said.

What the fuck harm could it do, I thought. I had 3 ladies in town, and one on the phone.

Then one day she calls me. She tells me that she has a job interview right here in Colorado, and can she stay with me.

My heart stops beating. I gag on bile. My bowels feel like they are about to open up.

She’s coming to see. What the fuck have I done?

In part 10 this whole debacle goes down. I also will talk about princess. Princess was my favorite and she ruined everything. And by that I mean I ruined everything.