Friends, strangers, new friends to be– Greetings and salutations.
The world is a chaotic, a turbulent place:
‘Tis the season for the misery within to say, “Hello.”
Perhaps, he/she/they broke up with you to avoid making any Thanksgiving plans?
Or maybe it was to circumvent having to go through that whole ordeal of picking out and buying gifts, or whatever sham reason that might be thrown around to avoid having to be around you– during the encroaching months of despair? Who knows?
Relax, it’s not you– it really is them. Remember that.
Sure, the likely reason could be you were tossed away for the smell of new lady vag-jay-jay or man-dick, but relax, at least it’s not your fault. Besides, now you too will have the minty nice newness, fresh virginal whoredom scent surrounding your presence to attract the scandalously curious in your direction. Thus, knocking over another relationship domino in the neverending saga known as– nobody seems to be able to remain monogamous, truthful, or can even be taken for their word any longer. Which makes one wonder… was it ever wise to trust a majority of folks?
After all, Ben Franklin did enjoy banging his hookers, while on Little House on The Prairie, Nels did secretly hate his wife, Harriet, and not long ago, that chick did tell Biz Markie some other man-meat was “just a friend.” BUT, You say he’s just a friend, join the DR and Mr. Markie, COME ON SING ALONG:
BABY– You, you got what I need but you say he’s just a friend
And you say he’s just a friend, oh baby
You, you got what I need but you say he’s just a friend
But you say he’s just a friend, oh baby
You, you got what I need but you say he’s just a friend
But you say he’s just a friend
Straight from the scenes of Maury, in the case of that dude being “just a friend”– the lie detector determined… that was a lie.
When asked if they had sex, the lie detector determined… he “hit dat” more than 37 times— a majority of which was from behind.
Universal disappointment, notwithstanding, the DR is here to bring cheer, a little joy, and knowledge to assure the masses a simple message– shit happens. Hang in there, eventually, maybe, karma will step up and have your back.
Speaking from experience, years ago, yours truly was in a long-term, on/off again relationship. Eventually, the on/off part led to the relationship becoming a triangle. Of course, my decision was easy– get away and do something or someone else, and never look back.
Turns out, 100% true, her karma would come via the new guy, the not me dude, running her over and leaving her for dead.
To the surprise of no one that knows this chick, she did not die. Nope. Instead, she turned the experience into a money-making venture. Recently, she put out an online seminar surrounding her ordeal, it was not a bad presentation. Most importantly, knowing her, the room was full, in her own words– KA-CHING! (No, I will not link to the presentation, as to why will be revealed a little later in this writing.)
The main reason for my interest in watching the taped performance was due to the simple ego, to see if my name was mentioned. Directly, it was not. However, she did discuss a shared experience and I was referred to as “an ex-partner.”
All things considered, that was nice of her.
The recount featuring me was of a real-life barrier being in the way, she needed help and yours truly would come along, as she said, to “save the day.” Obviously, in her version of the story, I would fail, but she somehow would rely upon magic or such, and for some reason or another, everything would work out.
No worries, it is an accepted fact, she has, likely will always have a sweet spot in her heart for DR. Whereas, she will also always have a soft spot on her head and mended broken body parts from that other dude, for you know, having run her ass over.
So, who would ya rather be? Me the “ex-partner” that comes to “save the day” or the dude that runs a chick over and goes to jail?
Think about it.
What may appear, at first, as a loss might end as a– FLAWLESS VICTORY.
Let that tale serve as a fair warning spiel to the women. Ladies be careful what you ask for, if giving up a good fellow for some other, you may end up being run down by karma or maybe even some dude’s car, true story. So, choose wisely.
No worries, fellows, I got your broken heart covered too.
Dude, come on. Do not confuse loneliness, horniness, or the feeling of being tossed away or rejected with an unwavering, timeless love lost.
Again, from my own reality, what is there really to miss?
All those times she “don’t feel good” or all the fun things she kept you from doing? Or perhaps it was all the times she gave you a hard time for being on the same planet as other chicks, only to turn around and tell you, “Well, it’s different, he’s just a friend,” eh? Sound familiar? You say he’s just a friend, OH BABY YOU GOT WHAT I NEED… COME ON SING ALONG–
BUT YOU SAY HE’S JUST A FRIEND, YOU SAY HE’S JUST A FRIEND…
The likely truth (again based on my experiences) is that although Ms. Perfect Love was initially a nice, a warm and a charming sex/love/romance/couldn’t keep her hands off ya level-6 goddess, she gradually would morph into a no-fun, crybaby, humbug, cold fish, lamest of the lame kinda dame. The key to the transformation was evident, hidden in your jokes, fella.
For example, when she stops laughing at your jokes, soon after, she will grow unable to string together two interesting sentences in a row– “relationship” = doomed, GAME OVER.
At this point, not only does she no longer “love” you, she probably does not even “like” you. However, sticking around long enough through such an ordeal will lead to the next downward phase. This is when she no long pretends you exist or matter.
For instance, one might produce high-quality writings and other interesting artistic works that she can’t be bothered to look at nor does she care enough to pretend to support either your ego or life goals. BUT…
At the same time, she certainly has no problem “liking” and “loving” some dude’s phone captured imagery of water puddles or some simplistic dumb shit. To solidify her new found appreciation, wait until that dude starts posting his creative words written in crayon or someone else’s oversimplified memes. She loves to go out of her way to support that fellow, but you? Nah, fuck you, buddy.
So, again, what exactly is there to miss?
The truth is the only woman that ever truly loved you was the on-off again lady AKA the crazy lady that ends up run over by a car. How does one know this is the purest and only true love? Because half the time in this type of relationship will be spent living in fear while she breaks your shit, and, ironically enough, comes speeding at you, chasing you down in parking lots, in her vehicle driving, really, really fast. She will also threaten to stab any woman that looks at you or vice versa. Once the relationship appears over, she will even take the time to write letters to your following girlfriend to sabotage said new budding relationship– well before it has a chance to even begin.
The other half of the time, she cannot keep her hands, lips, off of you and showers you with love or showers, as in very nice shower time. WOO WOO!
That my friends, may sound jaded, but that is “love.”
Best case, one either finds themselves entangled with a likely crazy person or an empty-vessel succubus which sucks out the livelihood– until the taste of you grows stale, then, onward to a newly found victim to satisfy the unquenchable palate. So, which will it be?
In closing, recent revelations have taught yours truly, when it comes to being shy about wanting to screw ya, dudes are far more to the point and persistent– even after you tell ’em, “Thank you for the compliment, sir. I appreciate it, we can be friends, certainly, I’m not threatened or anything, but also, I’m not gay.”
Those words do not seem to matter to a high number of horny dudes.
As a result, somewhere, deep within, I feel a need to apologize to womankind on the behalf of most man-dongery. Ladies, I try not to be a pig and do sincerely wish to apologize for all the bad dudes, from the past to the current.
Fellows, please don’t forget– no means no.
It doesn’t mean maybe, or eventually, it means no.
Quick recap, dudes, stop being pigs, no means no. To the ladies, my assurances in it being ok to be a tad more aggressive and please, for the love of deity, stop loving dudes that do not wish to be loved.
Your sometimes Buddy, sometimes “Dickish” DR
This post is dedicated to the following:
- The heartbroken,
- the heartbreakers,
- my kid on his birthday (even though he doesn’t bother to read this page),
- Motley Crue’s Sick Love Song,
- Snowball (“You sucked that guy’s dick?”), and 37 dicks, because it’s still funny.