My Pitiful Romance

March 6, 2015   /   byRezod  / Categories :  Posts

These two broads sum up my dating life within the last year. As you can see, I have the immature tendency to draw women into my emotional dungeon, that, at first, appeared promising and full of life. However, as soon as I snorted the cocaine from their proverbial vaginas, I really had no use for them until my narcissistic supply ran low. A year ago I repeated this cycle full-throttle until I smashed myself into the ground. Now- be it that I literally suffocated a life’s worth of brain cells through hardcore drug use, and be it that I’ve been a week sober, regaining some receptor-functionality in the rational centers of my brain- I have come to the conclusion that I am tired of spinning plates, keeping my success rate high only because of the laws of probability.

I have become too aware to continue down this path of romantic self-destruction. Though, keep in mind, this does not mean I should adjust my mannerisms to an about-face, thus rendering myself a faggot “nice guy.” So, don’t get me wrong, because there is absolutely nothing wrong summoning the hunter within, then lining up as many bitches so you can hire the best employee, metaphorically speaking, to fill the vacancy of your heart’s corporation. This is useful to a point- the likes which call for further delicate investment. After said point it’s foolish to remain ice cold with your attentions/intentions. Let’s say you’re ice fishing in Greenland and you got the motherfuckin’ fish fluttering it’s stupid tail as soon as you pull it out of water, it’s not in your best interest to toss it on the grill the same night. The idea is to pull a few fishys out, then bring them back home to nurture in a deluxe Petsmart aquarium, maybe even dangle a few sparkly coral therein to provide a calmer environment. The take home message: don’t spread thin and gobble bitches in one bite; rather, nurture a select few for quality nurturing. That’s love for ya, baby.

As for my pitiful existence, is it not a shame that most women only loved the idea of me. Is it not a shame they could only focus on the potential of the fling rather than the reality. The reality is that you need to let go and accept the death of fantasy. This generation, especially those braindead E! channel viewing skanks, with their misguided attitudes toward relationships, set up an inevitable domino effect, shaping great dudes into the x-generation ritual of worshipping pussy. Dependency is the opiate of the lesser man, and I am beyond that.

So, yet again, here I sit on a lovely Friday night, contemplating my sobriety, pulling my head out of my ass. Time to make way for the new, but with non-desperate intentions. In retrospect, the desperate intentions had driven me to treat women like absolute shit to fill a narcissistic need that could never be met. Truth is, if you’re going to treat women like shit, at least make it your own choice and not a choiceless act driven by insecurity.