Rejected FailureMarch 15, 2015 / byRezod / Categories : Posts
This broad summed up the misery I call my life- one big rejection. Looking back, what a fuckin tragedy the earlier fetus version of me made it to the next stage, avoiding miscarriage.
When does all this self-inflicted bullshit end? When is enough enough? When will I man-up, take responsibility, make better choices, and proceed to live this life the right way? At the rate I’m going, there is no light; heck, there’s not even a tunnel to have light at the end of. Should I just kill myself? It’s a reasonable question any creature with a neocortex should ask themselves. When I really think about it, however, I wouldn’t be able to muster the courage to off myself because I’m a big fat pussy, plain and simple. My level of narcissism wouldn’t authorize the suicide. I couldn’t do it anyways and give all those that despise me the pleasure. I rather suffer and live to tell about my pathetic livelihood than slit my fucking throat.
I suddenly did not spawn this morbid ideation because of my latest arrest. The contrary- I’ve had these existential thoughts lingering my numbskull since I dawned into this pointless world. It’s just that now I really feel this to be my true core. I am what I am; and what I am is a despicable creature who wants to die. Sure, maybe I should just sue the military, but then again I’ve had this demented outlook on life since the beginning. Nonetheless, I can brutally honestly say that the military triggered something nasty in me; and ever since then this demon has snowballed to the point of no return.
Last night it was proven just how reckless I can get with yet another round of self-defeating shenanigans. In a nutshell, I went to the bar, met up with a buddy, and got toasted. After about five drinks, I go inside the restaurant and tell these two babes my buddy wants to buy them a shot. Then I dragged my buddy inside and said fuck it, “I was the one, ladies. I was the one who’s going to buy y’all the shots.” I can go into detail, but you get the picture- I finally manned up, basically spooning with two hot babes hours on end. I was THAT guy: mister confidence. The twist here is I got so drunk I forgot to get their number (and my buddy told me they offered to take me home but I was like drunk and got lost from our group). So the one time I actually fail to get rejected, life rejects me from another angle. Sloppy work I must say. Born to be rejected, with my tail tucked between urine-soaked legs.
It gets even worse, though. As I was walking home I get arrested for burglary. I don’t remember any of it, but, according to the report, I was drunk trying to open some dudes’ door at 2 AM. Apparently the police were looking for a meth head a block away on the same street. The odds I tell ya. Toasted drunk, shirtless, roaming around in some dudes yard; his dog barking at me; and even after he threatened to shoot, the message didn’t register. The twilight had me zoned. Next thing I know, I check into a lovely police car, “this is one of them cases of wrong place wrong time, brother.” Then I was interviewed by two amateur detectives of the early early morning shift. I straight up cussed them out, “I didn’t fucking do anything. I was just trying to walk home from the bar. Why would I break into a house when I have my own house? The one time I don’t drive drunk I get penalized. How ironic.” Then they kept going down typical “forensic file” bullshit line of questioning, even showing me a mugshot of the meth head, suggesting we were connected and that I was his lookout for a burglary. Apparently they tazed mr. meth head because he boogey-jumped at the cops from a bush, all strung out. Then I straight up lose it, “I DID NOT DO ANYTHING FUCKING WRONG. BOOK ME OR GET MY FUCKIN LAWYER.” Big fucking mistake. They overcharged me with a felony 2 burglary. If anything, it should’ve been public intoxication and/or trespassing. Fucking beautiful. To be honest, I’ve done a lot of bad stuff in my life, but here is karma fucking me in the ass with a rusty screw driver. I usually laugh at people who act victimized by the police, but not today. FUCK THE POE LEECE. I’m moving to Ferguson. Word up.
Even my mother hung up on me today, “YOU’RE BAD PERSON.” Rejected by my own mother, for crying out loud. This is all just getting a little too much for me to handle lately. For sure, I can put myself in better situations in life, but the latest arrest was completely preventable and just plain stupid with this type of charge, which is going to cost me money. The one time I don’t get rejected at the bar, I end up in jail. Go figure. Then as I was released from jail, there was some chick sitting in the lobby big-eying me because I was shirtless. Good thing I bulked up this month. It sure finally paid off when this chick accepted rather than rejected me with her eyes. All my life the validation I’ve been seeking came at the least opportune time. BAH
So here I am, sitting, contemplating, yet again. Do I keep trudging through life, attempting to forge a resilience to future rejection? Nah. Let’s be frank here- I’m nothing more than a rejected loser spewing a pity party. All I ever really wanted nowadays was to live a consistent, semi-healthy life. A decent girlfriend with a nice, juicy pussy; a pussy that I want my cock to be exclusive to. Is that so much to ask? Clearly so since I tend to make the simplest things difficult. Plus, no decent girl would put up with me after the facade crumbles to make way for my nasty true colors. BAM.
So the wahhh wahh saga to my downfall continues, and I’m fully aware of it. This train is destined to keep crashing. I travel only one direction; first class ticket to hell. A part of me likes this. A part of me wants to put the final nail in the chapter I call my life, maybe save my son the torment/embarrassment.
Seriously, though, I just love the hunt far too much to give in and let my emo side reign supreme. Even though I didn’t get those babes’ numbers, I do remember making plans with them to hang out next Saturday at the same bar. BOO YAH
Furthermore, what would you slimebuckets do without me churning out masterpieces after masterpiece at the expense of my life? Take up knitting or scrapbooking? BLEH