marinate’n in utter juice that was utterly disgust’n as were most of us that grew up with that fuck'n hypnotize'n tigers roar in the 80's...turns out though that they weren't all that fuck'n grrrrreat after all...since i ended up gett'n 8 damn cavities from O.D.'n on em and fall'n into a complete confectionery coma once a week durin' my tenderly traumatic teen years...you'd think i'da learnt my lesson after the 3rd bowl
when it comes to date'n a potential failure...that could very well turn into yer future failure...cuz let's be real here...you only really got'em on loan...since...well death is inevitable...so there's not really an effective "how to" handbook on how to keep them in yer clutches ferever and ever
it doesn't matter whether yer some back comb'n...booze guzzle'n breeder...in daisy dukes too sizes too small...puff'n on a 2 pack of Marlboro golds on a daily basis...shoot'n out bastard children in the trailer park
like a willy water bug sprinkler system by the WHAM-O corporation...
or some highly pitched bitch that squeals like some blow monkey on meth...think'n they're the crem de'la'fem of the crop tops...but look more like a bloated blood sausage burst'n in their BVD's and need the jaws of life to escape them...constantly consume'n the spotlight on themselves...
either case...we all have our rules when hunt'n fer that special fucktard to call our very own
i used to find that when i was search'n fer a potentially interested failure...
i preferred someone closer to the top of the food chain...that would jump off a cliff...while chant'n my name when they would cum by see’n me...
though personally...i find just simply wait'n fer 3 simple dates before we're both make'n monkey love like greased up yorkshire pigs at the county fair...much more sufficient these days...keep in mind though...this doesn't mean i wanna move in or get married by date #4 or anything like that...
i mean seriously kittens...i don't have a lifetime membership discount card
to any local hardware store nor do i have any desire to own stock options at any move'n company...
i'll just leave that to the professionals
of course fer the purpose of this melodrama...most of my love life has been played out like any of Avril Levigne's biggest hits...and eventually...
unfortunately...just like the album...it's completely over...mind you though...just like anyone else's regrets...you just have'ta pick yerself back up and eventually move on to the next one without any regrets to start...or at least i do anyways
i have never felt the need to rent a room in desperadoville...nor did i ever
practice my baton twirl'n in some pathetic pity parade charade just cuz society deems you used up and worn out at a certain age...nor do i desire the recipe to bake that tired and crusty "oh don't worry...you'll find someone out there someday" pity cake at 425 degrees
yes i can agree when it's good...it's sooo good...but let's get real here if i
may...it's way more fun to spend yer hard earned benjamins on the one person you know that'll really appreciate you fer you...and that is YOU!...without have'n to get permission from yer annoy'n pathetic half...half the time...and especially when you add other expensive shit buckets into the equation that have ruined yer waistline beyond belief and milk'd yer piggy bank dry just about every other week til yer kick'n up daises!
i've done my fair share of charitable acts thru-out my love life...date'n from
thee socially retarded in my middle 30's...also known as my "mister fister sister"
thee chemically dependent in my early 40's...also known as my "manipulative methhead"
and thee emotionally unavailable in my later 40's...also know as my "yet to be determined" if it really is worth one more round of invest'n any more time with anyone by the time i hit my 50's
after 3 decades of this...i didn't need to date any more judgemnental judy's
and decided it was time to rethink about me fer a change and dip back into the insane single lane...oh don't take that the wrong way...each and everyone of those frosted flakers of failure from my past did mean somethin' to me at some point obviously since they were with me...and i'll admit...i do...albeit very little...hold a very small portion to be polite to the demise of it all
but just like a carton of eggs...they all had their expiration date apparently!
so i figer'd it was time to save money on therapy and decided to pack up
those things that many refer to as "feelings" and shove em to the back of my limbic system in my cranium...hit the road and just pump and dump fer a while...safely of course...when needed
tune in next week fer the excrutiate'n concussion of FROSTED FLAKERS
now GET OFF MY DRESS!
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