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I'm so emo
 
I'm so emo, the only way to convey how distraught I am with the world is through blogging
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I Fucked My Way Into This Mess, And I'll Fuck My Way Out
Posted:Oct 3, 2009 3:36 pm
Last Updated:May 3, 2012 5:42 pm
8464 Views

I'll say it. I like to fuck. I do it a lot. And sometimes it gets me into unfortunate situations. Like right now. Right now I am royally fucking fucked.

See, I went to this big dinner party the other night, trying to stay out of trouble, but lo and be-fucking-hold, who's there but one of the fuckfiends from our sales team, wearing fuck-me pumps and this little green skirt. So I fucked her. Twice. First time quick, second time slow. And then I fucked her friend Michelle (a great fuck), and Michelle's boyfriend, Alec, and his ex-girlfriend Rina, who's a fucking Persian sex goddess. Same bed, same night.

Fucking incredible fucking.

Then it hits me: Fuck. Rina is my boss's , that fucking fuck Alec fucked my sister last year, and my damn wife told me last week that if I don't stop fucking other chicks she's going to "walk out that [fucking] door and never come back." And it takes a fuckload of nerve for my wife to say that.

But look, I'm not some two-bit fuck who fucks up and then expects some other fucknut to clean up his fucking mess. A man's got to take some responsibility or he'll never amount to shit. I fucked my way into this, and by God, I'll fuck my way out.

I'm so far the fuck up shit's creek, I can't see straight, but that's my own fucking problem. If I'm between a rock and a hard fuck, I'm going to choose the hard fuck every time. No regrets. I saw an out-of-this-fucking-world gorgeous piece of ass-meat, and I pounced like a fucking cougar. Any fuckhead who thinks I should have fucking walked away is a fucking fucktard and I'll say it to his fucking face, the fuckface.

But fuck if I know what to do next. If my mom were still alive, I'd cry on her fucking shoulder. Man, I really stuck my fucking cock in it this time.

I know a lot of fuckwads who wouldn't do fuck-all about this predicament, just fuck off for a while and wait for the whole thing to blow over. But you see, that's just not this motherfucker's style. What the fuck ever happened to accountability? I can be a real fuck, sure, but I fucking finish what I start, and not just when I'm fucking.

In the end, I only see one way out of this: more fucking. Much more. An all-out, nuts-in-the-guts fuckfest. Yes, one false-fucking-move and you're ass-first in a fucking genuine clusterfuck real fucking quick–but do I look like a green-eared sportfucker to you, fuckrod?

Item Number Fuck on my agenda? Swoop home like a fuck-falcon and fuck my old lady like I love her. Keep fucking the skirt girl, plus hot-fuck Rina to keep that screamer quiet. Then line up a pity-fuck-and-suck with that fat-fuck deli chick, roll on out for a balls-out fuckfest with the redhead twins (ménage-à-fucking-trois, for you French fucks), and a three-day, four-night fuck-stravagaza down to Mexi-fucking-co next weekend to see the fuckable Miss Esmerelda.

At the end of the day, I don't really give a fuck. These women can fuck me around, but they know not to take it too fucking far. You know why? Because you don't fuck with a fucker, that's why. And if you fuck with a fucker like me, you'll end up being the fuck that gets fucked. Simple as that.

Fuck.
2 Comments
Let's Put the 'Ex' Back in Sex
Posted:Sep 14, 2009 2:51 pm
Last Updated:Jan 29, 2010 6:23 pm
8019 Views

Hey, Amy. How's the most beautiful ex-girlfriend in the world doing tonight? Wow, it's been a while, huh? Listen, don't hang up, okay? I know we haven't spoken in a while, but I was thinking the other day that maybe even though we're not dating anymore, we could, you know, um, how do I say this? Let's put the "ex" back in sex.

Before you get all mad, let me clarify. I'm not talking about starting up a relationship again. I just mean, hey, we're both single, and, well, how about you and me take a roll in the sack again, for old time's sake? Because I've got a feeling that tonight is a night for the kind of love that only comes once in a lifetime, and then stops, but then starts up every now and again, on occasion, when one or both people are horny and lonely.

I admit, you haven't heard from me in quite some time. I guess I wasn't returning your phone calls because after all the heartache and emotional trauma of the whole breakup thing, I just needed some space or room to grow. Plus, I was kind of focusing my efforts on trying to score with a bunch of hot new chicks. Unfortunately, that plan didn't exactly work out the way I'd hoped.

Come on, don't be that way. It's exactly that sort of uptight, closed-minded attitude that led to our breakup in the first place.

Don't you want a little of the old ex-boyfriend magic back in your life just once? Or twice? Or even maybe more often than that, depending on how things are going with the new people we may or may not be dating? The kind of magic that only a night of intimacy and romance with somebody you used to be intimate and romantic with, but no longer are, can provide? Let me take you on a trip down memory-of-having-sex-with-me lane.

We both have needs. I don't know about you, but my needs are most definitely not being met these days. So what would be wrong with a little noncommittal, post-relationship action on the side? I mean, in this crazy world, can't an ex-boyfriend and ex-girlfriend share a moment of tender, physical passion now and again?

Hey, we're both adults here. This is 2009. We're hip, liberated people. There's no need to hold back because of some outdated, prudish notions about what is or isn't appropriate. Why should we be so hung up on the distinction between a "current" and "ex" boyfriend? Life is too short for such technicalities. Do you see what I'm getting at, baby? I mean, ex-baby?

Look, the least you can do is show a little sympathy for someone you once cared deeply about. Would it kill you to show a little tenderness? Am I the only person in this ex-relationship that's ever heard of a mercy fuck?

Perhaps you don't realize just how sincere my intentions are. I really, truly, honestly want to get laid. Deeply. What about all the amazing, though admittedly over, times we shared? Doesn't that count for anything? Do you really feel nothing? You should see me. I'm down on my knees here, begging for a second chance at love for one or two nights a week, at most, at least until one of us starts sleeping with somebody else.

You aren't seeing anybody, are you? Well, sure, I suppose that is none of my business, but I'd like to think that the bond we once shared means you can still confide in me and share your most intimate secrets. Like, for example, whether you're seeing somebody. Are you? Because if you are, that's totally cool with me. I'm capable of handling it in a mature fashion, and I see no reason why your new boyfriend situation should interfere with my attempts to beg you to have sex with me again.

Look in your heart. Somewhere deep down in there, beneath all the pain, resentment, and lingering anger you're still feeling over our breakup, isn't there still some tiny flame of passion flickering for the man you once loved and, more importantly, allowed to have sex with you? Isn't there still some tiny little part of you that wants that kind of passionate commitment? And, by "commitment," I mean "commitment to having sex with each other"? Please, Amy, let me into your life again, or at least into your bed for just one more night.

No? Okay, that's cool, I understand. If you ever change your mind, though, my offer stands.
2 Comments
My Anti-drug is Alcohol
Posted:Sep 13, 2009 8:41 pm
Last Updated:Mar 28, 2024 5:43 am
7883 Views

If you're a growing up these days, sooner or later, someone's going to offer you drugs. "Go ahead, try some of these," they'll say. "They'll make you feel great. Come on, everybody's doing it. Don't you want to be cool?" People have told me all these things and plenty more, but I just tell them to buzz off. I tell them I don't need drugs to get high or be cool: I can do it with alcohol, my anti-drug.

The pushers who hang around the playground behind my school are always going on about the amazing high you get from drugs. But I don't see how it can compare to the pure, natural, 100 percent legal high I get from drinking alcohol. Who needs the artificial escape drugs provide when a good, stiff belt of Jim Beam or José Cuervo can put your head in the clouds while keeping your feet firmly planted on the ground?

Sure, at first, drugs may make you feel pretty good. But it's not real. Before long, you're using more and more, even as you're feeling worse and worse. Then, other things will start going wrong for you, too: Your friends won't seem to hang around you anymore, and you'll have new friends who only care about the drugs. Your grades will start to slip. Your memory will go. And your health will fade. All because of drugs.

Don't take that risk: Find something healthy, like alcohol, to take the place of drugs in your life. So, the next time you feel the urge to smoke some marijuana, try reaching for a big bottle of Bacardi instead.

The sneaky thing about drugs is how they make you feel like everything's okay when it's not. drugs alter the way you perceive things. They change the way you behave and cause you to lose control of yourself. Who wants that? I don't know about you, but I like being in control of my actions. That's why, whenever I feel tempted to wander down the wrong road, I pour myself a nice, stiff drink, thanking my lucky stars that I've got alcohol, my personal anti-drug.

Why would anyone in their right mind want to get "stoned" or "fried"? I'd rather spend my time engaged in more constructive activities, like "wetting my whistle," "liquoring up," or "filling myself with liquid courage." You know, positive things. With alcohol, the glass is always half full. (When it isn't completely full, that is.)

Now, maybe you don't care for alcohol. That's okay. What's not okay, though, is getting hooked on an addictive, controlled substance like pot, cocaine, or heroin. Find a healthy substitute, something you can get really into, something that can be your anti-drug. It could be anything: Learn to play blackjack or the ponies. Explore kleptomania. Have sex with an endless parade of random strangers. Anything that makes you feel good, as long as it isn't drugs.

It's your life, and you have to learn to make your own choices. But choosing drugs? That's no choice at all.

Nothing beats the adrenaline rush that comes from knowing you're drug-free. And, if you're drug-free, you're free, period. I like that feeling, and I like myself. I'm high on life, because I'm high on alcohol, my anti-drug.
0 Comments
I Wish I Were More Like My Online Persona
Posted:Jan 2, 2009 3:02 pm
Last Updated:Jan 29, 2010 6:23 pm
8066 Views

In the online world, I, Hankscorpio74, am known to be charismatic, tough, quick-witted, and tenacious as a copperhead snake. Like my namesake, Globex Corporation president Hank Scorpio, I am roguish and unflappable, possessing the confidence and flair of 20 men. Unfortunately, all of that changes when I drag my cursor down to "Shut Down" at the bottom of the "Special" menu. For all the admiration and respect I command in chat rooms, in real life, it's a different story. Oh, how I wish I were more like my online persona.

Online, I am king. No matter how formidable people may be in real life, the moment they try to mess with Hankscorpio74, they are sure to get the horns. (Or, to be more exact, the Doomsday Device.) When Hankscorpio74 suavely struts into a chat room, all the ladies are on him like Mynocks on the Millennium Falcon. Yet I have a hard time imagining the real-life Douglas Peltz being able to woo Hottie69 and LittlepartyChick into a private room for a "more intimate gathering" like Hank did a few weeks back in that chat room.

When a woman catches my eye in the real world, I'm usually too scared to talk. And, in the rare instance that I somehow muster the courage, I am met with barely concealed disgust. Is it my fault that Douglas Peltz has bad skin and a chronic runny nose? I often wonder if any of these ladies I see in real life are ones Hankscorpio74 has met and seduced on the Internet. Knowing how many conquests he's piled up, it's likely.

As masterful as I am throughout the Internet, there is one particular place where I am truly godlike: the Literati™ site under Yahoo! Games. Only the most brave or foolish dare challenge me, and both are disposed of with uncommon haste. I have seen web postings where people have discussed my Übermove. The Übermove is when I allow a mentally inferior opponent to get slightly ahead, causing him to grow more confident and, by extension, complacent. Then, when he least expects it, I put down all my tiles, not only getting the extra 35 points but demoralizing him thoroughly. The respect, fear, and admiration I earn with such moves stands in sharp contrast to the way I used to be treated in the high-school cafeteria, where my few friends and I would play travel Scrabble while being pelted by Nutty bars.

In the real world, I am at best ignored and at worst mocked and scorned. Yet, if my persecutors were playing Half-Life Team Fortress, they would be whistling a different tune as I expertly sniped them time and time again. Would my old high-school nemesis Doug Kilkrane have knocked my books out of my hands every day before science class if he knew the fear I strike into the hearts of opponents at Buffy The Vampire Slayer trivia? What has Doug Kilkrane done, other than throw baseballs well and date Amy Cass? Dick.

Hopefully, as I get older, aspects of my online persona will slowly creep into my real-life persona. Perhaps Hankscorpio74 will take over my actual personality, much like the ultra-suave Vic Ferrari occasionally took over Latka Gravas' on Taxi. Then again, I wouldn't want Hankscorpio74 to completely take over: The Douglas Peltz half helps balance out Hankscorpio74, giving him some much-needed humanity and humility.

If Hankscorpio74 were to completely take over, God help everyone, because no one would be able to stop him. But I suppose the only way that'd happen is if the real world became just like the Internet. Which probably won't happen too soon.

Oh, well.
1 comment
I Never Talk On The First Date
Posted:Nov 27, 2008 10:11 pm
Last Updated:Jan 29, 2010 6:24 pm
8301 Views

People are so impatient nowadays. Everyone's rushing to find someone, get married, settle down, and have . Call me old- fashioned, but I believe in taking things slow. That's why I never talk on the first date. Or on the second or third date, if I can help it.

I know women want it. I can tell by the way they look at me and ask all kinds of questions about where I grew up, what I do for a living, and what books I've read lately. Hell, most women these days expect us to talk on the first date. They think they deserve it, just because I'm dressed a certain way and sitting across from them while they ask me personal questions.

Well excuse me, but I'm just not that kind of guy. You know the type–talkative. Sure, some people can just move from one conversation to the next, or engage in three-way chats on a whim, but I'm not one of them. I can't just dive into an intimate discussion with a complete stranger. I mean, my God, can't we get to know each other a bit before we go straight into the heavy discussion?

I know what you're thinking, but I'm not a prude. I'm not above nodding on a first date, and if I really like someone, giving one-word answers to a variety of questions. On a second date, after a few drinks, I might tell a quick story. But that's where I draw the line. I have standards, and I'm not going to debase myself by flapping my gums for any woman who agrees to go to my office Christmas party at the last minute.

It's not even like I'm saving my talking for marriage. I just don't want to give away all my anecdotes to the wrong person. I respect myself too much to be bullied into talking to a woman before we've gotten the chance to see if we really connect.

I guess that's just how I was raised.

Besides, when you start off a date right away by saying "Hello" and immediately giving her 10 minutes of back-and-forth that shows that you're both intelligent and entertaining, that's all you're ever going to be in her mind: a great talk. A guy she could just call up whenever she feels like it for some no-strings-attached conversation. It's like my father always said: Why buy the cow when you can talk to the cow for free?

Unfortunately, I had to learn my lesson the hard way. There was this girl I really liked a while back, and I wanted to impress her so badly I ended up opening my mouth before we even got our appetizer. I think I had a little too much wine, because I don't even remember what I said, really.

She kept me around for a few months, but she just used me for my intellect and emotions. She wanted to talk all the time, day and night, without any consideration for whether I wanted to or not. Sometimes she wanted to do it as soon as I woke up in the morning. And when I told her I had had enough and that I never wanted to talk to her again, she stopped calling me altogether. Women.

But I'm not going to give up on my dream. Isn't there anyone out there who doesn't have a one-track mind about interpersonal communication? Are there no women left who will love a guy for who he is, and not just because they've grown to respect him as a human being? Can't I find a nice girl who wants to just sit around at my apartment in complete silence?

I really don't think that's too much to non-verbally ask for.
2 Comments
Honey, I Said Some Things I Didn't Mean To Say Out Loud
Posted:Nov 9, 2008 10:57 am
Last Updated:Jan 29, 2010 6:24 pm
8238 Views

Darling, I know you're upset, and you have every right to be. I don't think we've ever gotten into a fight like that before. But I just want you to know that those cruel things I said, well, I didn't mean a single word of them to be said out loud. I swear.

Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, you say things you don't actually mean to let slip out. Like when I called you a "shallow, clothes-obsessed hagbeast"? To be honest, I was angry. You hurt me, and I lashed out unfairly and audibly. Can you ever forgive me for articulating my true feelings?

Please don't take all those things I said seriously, sweetheart. Never in a million years did I mean for you to hear that you're a "frigid bitch." I hate using the F-word. That was for my inner dialogue only.

I know how much I must have hurt you. And I know I shouldn't take my frustrations with you out on you. I should just mutter under my breath and punch the steering wheel on my way to work like I usually do.

Of course, those things I said aren't what I officially think about you. How could they be? I thought enough of you to marry you, didn't I? Do you really think I would want to spend the rest of my life with "a vapid, materialistic shrew who cares more about her precious fucking kitchen renovations than about her own husband"? Of course not. Work has just been really stressful lately. I'm sure once it cools down, I'll be back to normal, and I'll never again voice my true feelings like that.

You have to keep in mind that when people get angry, they say stupid things. When you told me your credit card was maxed out, I just snapped. I don't know why. So, please, dry those tears, dear heart. Forget all those things I said out loud. "Leathery, slack-titted gorgon" was just a meaningless string of words that popped into my head but never should have flown out my mouth.

Half the things I said don't even make any sense for me to vocalize. I mean, what does the phrase "spoiled, cultureless, plastic-surgery-deformed succubus" even mean? Don't you agree that it makes no sense? If so, we agree that it was just utter nonsense that never should have been said out loud. I should think I could come up with better insults if I genuinely wanted to, but why would I want to? You're so very precious to me.

And if you could possibly find it in your heart, I'd really appreciate if you disregarded the fact that I listed your faults in alphabetical order. I've been able to do that since I was young–it's a blessing and a curse. If my mother were still alive, you could ask her. And since I was really struggling with W and Z, you could tell I was just making that stuff up off the top of my head. Before you know it, we'll be laughing about me saying things like, "W is for phone... ring, ring, it's for you," and "Z is for the Zoo cages your half of the bedroom resembles." I'm kind of laughing already.

I know how much my words have stung and, believe me, I'm truly sorry. Instead of taking them out on you, I should have bottled them up and screamed them into the mirror while you were away at your stupid shrink. That's what I pay him $300 an hour for, right?

Don't worry, sweetie. I'm all better now. Forget the mean man you just saw. He's long gone. Now, gimme a hug, you evil, soulless harpie.
1 comment
Introduction
Posted:Nov 8, 2008 1:50 pm
Last Updated:Feb 4, 2009 5:14 pm
7892 Views

Man, it's tough being male, middle-class, and white. I mean, nobody out there seems to understand me! You can't possibly begin to fathom the horrors of being raised in a cookie-cutter suburban neighborhood. I'm so different and wretched. Good thing I've got this blog!
0 Comments

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