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I mean, what is
it with guys that they have to fuck as many women as possible, anyway?
And don't give me the whole "it's biology" bullshit.
That guys have to fuck around because it's ingrained in their DNA, and
if they don't get any for like three days their head explodes, so they
fuck to save the planet
Here's my theory: guys are dicks.
I think they do it for as long as they can get away with it, for as long
as they don't get caught. And then when they do, they say shit
like "We were never exclusive", and move on to another circle,
another group, another zip code where nobody knows them and it starts
all over again. As long as they get away with it, they will.
I think it's nothing more than a game to them. Like stealing from
the bank at Monopoly. It's not sex, it's Monopoly.
It's not about sharing your body, it's not about intimacy, it's not
about making love, it's about sneaking around and stealing the $500
bills when the other players aren't looking. |
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Anyhow,
I've been in ugly mood for like a week and a half or so.
And Ashley, The Most Observant One On High got pissed off and
demanded to know why I was being sulky for no obvious reason
"And not having sex in at least six months is not good
enough." And I told her about Andrew the Asshole from
eight years ago, and yes, I know eight year old anger is stupid,
it's not like it ages gracefully like a good scotch or anything.
But I saw the damn flower and now I'm pissed off.
Ashley,
The Brilliant Idea One, suggests I write a letter to Andrew the
Asshole. Not one that I'd mail, since we don't know where
he spun off to (and nor do we care), but one that tells him
exactly everything I ever wanted to, and then we burn it, or rip
it up and throw it into the ocean. This sounds
suspiciously like a shrink trick. You know, like where you
gotta list ten good things about yourself and then they make you
read it when you say you hate yourself. But since the
other option is to have Ashley beat me senseless, I'm willing to
try anything. So I wrote this:
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