Incompatibility

August 09 2014

Stabbed

This is something that happens to me... pretty much always. A stunningly gorgeous woman offers me the fucking perfect life. But it's only 99.5% perfect. So I pull out the nuke bomb that I perpetually carry in my black little heart and I blast a crater in our relationship the size of the moon. I don't go the typical pussy way of just milking her and the relationship for a couple years until it turns to poisonous shit. Neither do I go the manly way of saying, "you know what, you're a lovely woman, but our goals are half a percent incompatible, and because I'm a stupid idiot, I'm going to bid thee well with a fond adieu." No, whatever in-between thing I choose leaves permanent emotional damage to all parties involved. And I'm generally OK with that.

It's not a healthy thing. I don't think. I'm just too fond of sitting on my couch in dirty boxers, with a 17 day growth of unshaved facial hair that my coworkers uncomfortably pretend to not notice, and drink whiskey. Just... A lot of whiskey. And I love it so much that I don't want to risk a woman - even a beautiful naked one who makes me sandwiches every five minutes - to say to me, "listen, you need to shave, put on pants, and go to work. Because seriously: Bills."

I guess that's what it comes down to. I have a huge addiction to my own freedom. My own sad, lonely, empty freedom. But FREEDOM nonetheless. And I think it just like that, all in big letters, like that beautiful (but also horrible) scene in Braveheart where he shouts "FREEEDDOOOMMMM." Of course, he's getting disemboweled as that happens. Which is a perfect analogy. I disembowel my chance for a meaningful life so that I can perfect the butt groove in my couch, and complete my collection of Whiskeys from around the world. And by "world", I mean the discount section of the liquor store.

It's not that I never make sacrifices. I occasionally pass up the fifth bowl of ice cream after a long night of doing nothing but eating ice cream. So yeah, I'm all about making those hard choices. So you'd think I'd say, "well, this relationship will have challenges, just like every relationship, but I mean, it sounds like a pretty fucking sweet deal overall." But no. I can choose to eat ice cream until I get fucking sick. But if she's around, I have to fucking share it. And I'm just too selfish for that.

Of course, maybe one of these women would have a better chance of hooking me if after they made their offer, they told all the OTHER women in the world to stop jumping all over my dick. Women really need a secret handshake that says, "fuck off bitch or I'll cut you." Maybe they already do that. I don't think it works though. Apparently my 17 days of shaggy growth and my whiskey stained muscles are just too awesome to resist.

~Fuzzy

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