In this moment in time I can firmly say that I am at peace with NOT being a person. We all have dreams of fitting in, finding somewhere you belong in this meaningless existence. How would you feel about life if you just died tomorrow?

Suicide being reserved only for cowards is a big fat myth. It takes some real balls to off yourself. The human body naturally resists cellular death. Surprisingly, a good number of people survive gunshot wounds to the head every year.

But how do you really feel about your life? If you were to die tomorrow, would that inspire you to feed into the motivational hype of embracing the power of now? Fuckin’ queer.

Do me a favor and point a loaded shotgun at the bridge of your nose and slightly pull the trigger; perhaps contemplate life for a solid ten seconds.

In that moment you will find out how you truly feel. The fairytales you believed in prior to that moment would no longer hold weight. Point blank- you wouldn’t waste your fuckin’ time with life like you’ve been doing. You would do what you want. Your body would muster what ever it chemically could to prevent that sinking feeling of apoptosis.

As for myself, I am definitely stuck in the status quo. Although I do appreciate how amazing freedom truly is when you put yourself in third world/convicted lifer shoes. The idea here is to not let yourself forget how bad it could really be.

The object of your affection this month wouldn’t reciprocate? Lol poor fuckin’ you getting caught up in the fairytale of love. I’m going to put to rest the whole Love debate: it’s a figment of your imagination, but at the same time it can exist if you let those figments bloom. You simply choose who and what you want and then you let it happen. All that drama in between is a side effect of not being reciprocated to the extent that you think you need to be. You can’t control other people. Rejection is always a win/win scenario, because at that stage you find out if you’re wasting time. We all have dreams of being a person, though, right?

Wouldn’t it just be great if the devil took a shit and, voilà, out came me? Wouldn’t it just be nice if the perfect girl simply gave herself to the devil? Let me cum in her all day long. Randomly pull her panties down to nail her up against the oven as she’s cooking my immaculate dinner. A chick that let “love” happen and gave her life to me so I could exploit it the way I pleased. Not quite a slave, but somebody with the desire to do anything for you. Instead, that shit rarely happens this day and age in America. This generation of women has hit it’s boiling point in terms of narcissism. The self-centered are the epitome of what’s wrong with women in this country. They’re not feminine. Ungrateful.

Sometimes a man can’t shake the rejection because of ego and its faulty construction; then he forgets that there are gorgeous women all over the world just dying to receive his advances. The key is to remind yourself of the enormity of everything, rather than doing what you’ve been doing, dwelling on the rejection. Same goes for the status quo in those other arenas of life. Just wake the fuck up and shake it, dude.

When it comes down to it, you don’t need a god damn thing but your motherfuckin balls. When somebody abandons a lion in the safari, don’t expect to pet the fucker when he gets back to civilization. I am that fucker. Rejection? Fuck that. Nobody likes you? Fuck that. I rather jerk my dick in solitude on my isolated throne. You can’t make consistent money? Fuck that. Steal. You feel guilty about something? Who really gives a fuck. Not happy about where you live? Grab your fuckin’ balls and move to a cabin on a lake in Northern Wisconsin and roast marshmallows.

I want to fucking die.