I'm a miserable bastard. If there's one thing you should know about me, that's it. Just miserable. Now, I'm sure I haven't cornered the market on making dumbass decisions, but I gotta be on the board of directors. Mostly having to do with women. Man, I hate goddamn women. Show me a more heartless animal than a woman, and I'll give you million dollars. My theory is that society associates caring and compassion with women because of our mothers. They nurture us and love us, so we think all women are like that. All you gotta do is ask your father how batshit crazy your mother drove him and you'll learn that she's no different.
Yeah, I was married. Probably the worst thing I could've done. She rectified that situation a few years ago - after all the money was gone. There was a bitch among bitches right there. The worst part is that if she showed up on my doorstep right now, I'd probably take her back. That's how damn dumb I am. If I'm gonna be honest, the one I'm seeing now is way worse. Comparing her to my ex-wife is like comparing a nuclear bomb to a fire cracker. Yeah, this new one is that bad. At least the ex was sweet on a blue moon. Not this one though, she's probably never been sweet for a minute in her life. See, told you I was a dumbass.
Her name's Esmeralda. Sounds exotic, but she's about as exotic as a stalk of corn. More hunchback than damsel too. Don't get me wrong, she's a beautiful girl - on the outside. Damn jackal on the inside. I met her at a bar. That should've been my first clue, but she caught my eye and charmed my pecker. Like a goddamn fish going after a shiny new lure, I was hooked. Sex was great; for the first couple months. Lately, I'm lucky if I get a one armed hug. My daddy always said, "God created porn for the married man." I think he would've enjoyed the Internet, God rest his soul, the poor bastard.
Back to the love of my life. She wasn't that into me after that first night and the liquor wore off. She allowed me to buy her a couple of meals because she's such a damn saint. Nope, wasn't until she saw where I lived, that she feigned some interest. Not saying that I have a nice, big house or anything. No, the reason she liked it is because it is only five minutes from where she works. So shacking up with me was more convenient for her and she could sleep in an extra 30 minutes. I guess women choose men like they choose real estate; it's the location that's most important.
Women are smart when it comes to claiming territory. They're subtle. Starts out with a few toiletries, then a few items of clothing in the closet. After that, comes a knickknack here and there. Next thing I knew, all my shit was crammed into the extra bedroom and my clothes were moved from the closet to the garage. Now I got fruity looking pictures of
I also was given some new rules for my house. First off, I couldn't smoke cigarettes inside anymore. Can't even smoke in the damn garage and gotta freeze my ass off. On the other hand, her and her stupid friends can smoke weed in the house. Shit, Esmeralda would smoke weed in a hospital nursery. She'd probably crawl into my Great Aunt Ester's iron lung if she thought it'd get her more stoned. Man, I hate goddamn potheads. Now, I'm no Mother Theresa. I like the drink and maybe a line of coke every now and again, but these potheads think they're so damn smart and enlightened. Yeah, I bet Voltaire had his nasty finger in the bottom of a jar of Skippy while holding court. I've heard more coherent thought coming out of a drunk four year old. Don't say that to a stoner though. They'll verbally rape you - until you show them something shiny or colorful.
What I don't understand is why Esmeralda hangs out with the people she calls, "friends." She doesn't like a damn one of them. If they're not around, all she does is tell me, or whoever will pretend to listen, how her friends are stupid. They're with the wrong guy, work the wrong job, dress like crap, think they can dance, etc. That's the thing about women; they really hate their friends most of the time. My theory is that they settle for whatever they can get, whether it be their friends, the man they’re with, or their job. Women settle, because something's better than nothing. No matter how awful that something is. You can call me a hypocrite and say that I settle for any woman that'll let me see her naked; but I don't have a choice. Men don't have a choice in anything anymore.
I always thought I was as miserable as I could get, until I met Esmeralda's father. He has four daughters, no sons, and a ballbuster of a wife. All in a house with only one bathroom. What a poor bastard. You can tell his spirit was broken in the early eighties. He just kinda sits there in his JC Penny's suit until one of the women gives him an order. I saw some pictures of him from his Army days and I tell you, the young sergeant and that sad sack sitting in the living room can't be the same guy. Guess I have that to look forward to. Fortunately, I'm already 30 and haven't had any kids yet. Unfortunately, Esmeralda is only 24 and has many child rearing years left. I should take her father and drive us both off a cliff.
I thought that since she was much younger than me, I could have at least a little control in the relationship. Nope, it's like I'm dating the Prom Queen again and she's calling all the shots. Dumb shots that I called when I was her age, but according to her, I'm retarded. I wish I was, then I wouldn't know any better. One of the mistakes she is making, that I made at her age, is that she thinks that success in her career will equal success in her life. I thought that until I was successful in my career. Hell, I was never more miserable. The more money you make, the worse off you are. She doesn't get that and tells me that I'm just a lazy son of a bitch who wants to mooch off her.
Now, I do have a job. It pays me what I need to get by, but more importantly, it doesn't interfere with my life. I don't have any job related stress. That's a lie. I have to "sympathize" with Esmeralda's job related stress. I have the honor of listening about how her job doesn't value her and doesn't even know how great she is. I get to hear this same damn speech every day for an hour after she gets home. I tell her to quit and do something she enjoys, but she tells me I'm a lazy retarded son of a bitch with no ambition and I should be more like her father. Yeah, that poor asshole is a great role model for happiness.
I remember back in fifth grade, they took all the girls over to the auditorium. They threw all the boys in the gym and said we could punch each other and not get in trouble. No wonder we’re all idiots. What the girls were taught in that special session is the biggest secret in the world. Out of all the women I’ve ever met, none will tell what went on in there. And we all know how women can’t keep a damn secret. That’s why you can’t cheat on them. Anyway, most men speculate it was all about periods and growing hair in weird places. I wholeheartedly disagree.
I believe that fifth grade girls across the country are given an intense psychological warfare seminar. They learn the fine arts of sexual manipulation and crying at will. God forbid, if I have a daughter, I’m gonna home school her during fifth grade and see if she turns out sweet. By the way, in sixth grade, they took the boys to the auditorium. They taught us about wet dreams and answered the myths about girls masturbating with coke bottles and hot dogs.
I wasn’t always such a miserable bastard. I mean, I’ve always been kinda miserable, but not to the extent I am today. No, like any young man, I used to be full of hope. After my high school girlfriend wiped her ass with my heart, I actually bounced back pretty quickly. Mostly because girls in college would fuck just about anything and I was drunk a majority of the time. Those were the days.
The bad thing is that I fell in love after my first year in college. Not to say that falling in love is a bad thing. Love is pretty awesome if you find it with the right person. Or so I’ve heard; I never have. No, I can only fall in love with the worst person. And that’s not so great. She was an alright gal, she was just an evil bitch. Can’t blame her, some asshole guy turned her that way. She got her revenge on him by being an asshole to me and the cycle of awful adult relationships began.
The most absurd part of it all is that even as a younger man, I could see this. However, whenever I’d get fed up with her and decide to leave, that’s the day she’d be the sweetest damn thing in the world and I’d fall even more in love with the two-faced succubus. It’s like women can sense when a man has had enough and they change into the girl of our dreams for up to 72 hours. That keeps us hooked in for at least another six months hoping that girl will come back.
Yeah, the woman decides when the relationship is over, not the man. Shit, I broke up with my ex-wife after the first month of dating and two months later we were living together. How the hell do they do that? Must be some of that crap they learn in fifth grade.
Anyway, after my first adult love decided that she could settle for something a little bit better looking, she ripped out my heart like a Mayan priest. I was a little bitter and played it safer than before, but still had hope. I still thought there was a nice girl out there for me. Yeah, I was still naïve.
The next one was a little better than the first, but again she was turned malicious by a previous asshole. That’s when I began to learn my place in the world. Since I was a decent man, I was the vacation guy for girls who were in between assholes. They left an asshole, went with me for awhile, and then dumped me for an even bigger asshole. Ironically, each time they do this, they turned me more and more into an asshole. That’s a lot of assholes, which makes me wonder: Which came first, the bitch or the asshole. If you believe the bible, it was the bitch; or you could argue that the snake was the asshole. Personally, I think a rule that you can have anything in the world except this one thing is kind of an asshole rule. But that’d make me a blasphemer.
When I met my ex-wife, I was a pretty miserable bastard. But I still had a little hope left in the old tank. All she had been with were really terrible assholes, so she stuck with me for longer than most. She also liked the fact that I made a shitload of dough. So much so, that when she’d spent it all and I decided that money wasn’t important to me, she left me for a rich asshole. Not hard to find; all rich guys are assholes.
And that’s how I became such a miserable bastard and fell into the unloving arms of my beautiful Esmeralda, Queen of the Callous, the fingernails running down the chalkboard of my heart. Hopefully, she’ll decide she can settle for someone better soon and leave me. Until that day, I’ll have to get used to smoking outside and sitting down to take a piss. Damn, I should really drive myself off a cliff.
1 comment:
THIS IS GREAT
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