Assclowns, Ladies, and Bares...Oh my!

      Well Gentle Reader, if you ever wanted to know where all the nice guys went, let me tell you a story about why they are an endangered species. These are the three steps one must take to make yourself look and feel like an assclown. Step 1: Start a blog, I'm pretty sure that 12-13 years of self-inflicted whore abuse isn't a requirement. Step 2: Post an anonymous letter leaving yourself feeling foolish and vulnerable. Step 3: Wait 20 minutes. That's all there is to it apparently, because twenty minutes after posting "Headbangers Ball," I received a message from Headbanger telling me that she didn't think we should talk anymore, and we should just be friends. Let me add that she knew I would be posting it and wanted me to post it.  The best part of it was her asking me, "You aren't going to write about me like those other heartless bitches, are you?" I asked myself, "What would Taylor Swift do?" But we have no more time for all this bullshit, heartfelt dillydallying. Let us catch up with our hero.

      After the betrayal of Doe-Eyes, I was determined to never let that happen again. I seriously only had one brief relationship between her and my ex-wife. I was 17 then....I got married at 23. That brief relationship will need it's own entry. That shit turned into an episode of Jersey Shore. So I thought I would just be able to start having casual sex. It doesn't work that way. My first problem ended up being I didn't quite have the game. I spent most of my life worrying about grades and report cards. For some reason, girls that are DTF don't seem to care about past-participles and remembering to carry the 1. My second problem was being incapable of not falling in love at the first sight of a naked female body. I mean, sex is a very intimate act. It is as close as you can ever get to a person. So I fell in love with every girl I slept with at first. Then I told myself  "That is just pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts." The first Gentle Reader to tell me the movie that line came from wins a barely used "Uncle Buck" DVD. You pay all shipping costs.

      So I started practicing....with myself....a lot. Not really; I was already in love with myself by this point. I do love me some me. I think my narcissism compensates for my lack of self-respect. I can assure you, I did have my share of growing pains though. I slept with a girl that hit a car with MY car in a Waffle House parking lot, and then proceeded to speed off. There was a girl that called my apartment and left a number to call her at. It was the number to MY apartment. She was cute, but not so bright. There was even an insanely jealous one that would ask "Who is that?" everytime I spoke to a girl, hugged a friend that was a girl, or even when just some random girl walked within 10 feet of me. I now know, the way you handle this situation is the first time a girl asks "Who's that?", I say "Oh, who was that? THAT is the greatest cocksucker on the planet. That's who THAT is. Actually, maybe you two should go swap stories. I mean YOU never blew me and made both my legs cramp up at once, did you? Well, she did. And there is no quit in that girl. Nuh huh. I was trying to walk the cramps out and she was just walking backwards on her knees in front of me. It was A-mazing." I can tell you guys, this works everytime. She will never ask "Who is THAT?" again.... Because she will leave you.

      So next time Gentle Reader, I promise to stay on the path, focus on the prize, and all that other shit. We will get into the time where I finally gained some self-confidence and started to get laid with regularity. On a final note, please respect the privacy of those mentioned here. If I choose to not use their real name, it is to show them a little respect (whether they deserve it or not). The next person that asks me who I am writing about....I can promise you, when I get around to you....I'll use YOUR real name. And to the ones that think every post is about them, get the fuck over yourself. It's not all about you. This is all about ME, obviously. Start your own blog, fame-whores.