Title: Caution: Drama Inside
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Blog Entry: The longer I sit back and just simply look around, the more I find myself feeling like an angry, and quite simply to call it, asshole; Is there anything out there, man, woman, hermaphrodite, transsexual, shemale, whatever the hell you want to call yourself these days, that actually even knows a single god damn thing about what you are even looking for? Oh yes, this is a rant, this is me venting off my steam that feels like a locomotive that's been jammed up. I try to open up and ask a few questions, hell, I feel like I'm coming in full steam with a pry-bar and pick-axe to even just get more than a little; well umm, I kinda want (insert vague trait here) that's not so (another vague trait there) because really it all comes down to when a guy does, (insert completely contradictory information to previous answers) it completely turns me off. Well! Aren't you just the fantastic girl of everyone's dreams! No seriously! I'm starting to picture myself in the situation where the right way to do this, is not to cater to what you've said, heaven forbid that the straight forward attitude you've been looking for is what you truly wanted! Wasn't that a pleasant backfire for you! Gods no, lets take your answers, and study them, realize that everything you've said that what you want, is actually the exact opposite of what you've been looking for.... And can it work? Well of course it won't fucking god damned work! There is no more happy medium, and either it's just been a fun time throwing yourself out like the worm on a hook, teasing the fish, or I've seriously taken the nice guy approach too far. Perhaps I'm always just the lucky chap that's been dropping in a message to the completely schizophrenic crowd, says one thing, blows it out their ass another. Maybe I've been doing this online dating wrong, maybe the true success comes form flashing my dick like the prized Emmy award everyone's been hoping to achieve, that I show off my package like I feel as though god's blessed me with the dick of life, and my attitude should not, should ever, cosmos forbid, be "I want to make you happy for the rest of your life" the proven attitude, time and time again, should be, "I'm going to make you happy like a $50 whore for 25 minuets and you'll never get it again!" Pimple on the back? Sneeze during dinner? Say one thing wrong? Maybe misinterpret one little detail? Well of course no man is perfect, the dumbass has been growing up on jerking off to porn and hentai ever since he realized what a cock can do, that's why he needs that special partner that's going to roll her eyes and say, "Oh you idiot!" and make him halt in his tracks and say, "Well, holy shit batman, I fucked up!" and turn himself around and look to find the way that makes him the better person in the end. If he can't improve himself? That's when it's time to throw away the baggage. Men are like everything in this world, they need a little maintenance and care. If you don't have any patience, and if they certainly don't have any, then things are going to blow up like Chernobyl, and the toxic waste that's left behind is certainly going to leave both parties confused who's to blame. So there we go, I've had a good long run of several years trying to be the man that learns from his mistakes, the kind of guy that can look at you with the puppy dog eyes and say, "Hey darling, what's wrong? You can talk to me." patiently waiting and letting you breathe, letting you have space and time to think, the gentle man that's going to remember what flowers you liked and the kind of chocolate you enjoy, and knows the anniversary of that first date. The kind of man that opens his arms and waits for you to come inside and get that hug you've been looking for, letting you know softly in your ear that ' I love you ' and 'It'll be alright ' will help you feel better. Eight years of nothing but hopeless relationships and looking back over my shoulder, I've rolled my eyes and just plain sighed. Here's to you my dear ladies! Born and bread under your indecisive, cutthroat, and military precision guidance; if you don't like what you see, you can just eat out my hair covered asshole, gag on my dick until I cum, or get the fuck out of my sight, thank you for the Roller-coaster, because I've certainly had enough of putting my emotions out on free admission. I've made up my mind and heaven help you and god take you if you want to change it, you've solidified my being into the understanding that if there's anything you want, it comes from the bloated wallet or bulging jeans, because when a man proves himself to even have the slightest of logic intelligence, you'll try your hardest to whittle it down with arbitrary informatics and subtle changes to the he said she said until you're certain he can't contradict your cleverly designed detour. Kind and caring is always a beauty, but when daddy doesn't turn you into the princess that's spoiled and pampered, then he's clearly the Mr, Wrong, and Mr, right will be the lap dog that's going to roll over panting with a drained wallet, victim of yet another gold digger. So here it comes, what does this all mean? I've got a single criteria in my mind, and lets see what the hell comes out of it. I don't give a loli-gagging fuck what you want, because personally, you've never known what that was ever since you've been trying to suck off your own teacher to get a better grade. Do you have a personality? Well, who needs a damned personality when you're just some man's little whore, making sure at least his day went well, and as long as he's got that smile on his face at the end of the day, then clearly you've built some self-worth. Goals? Well of course HE's got goals, he's got a life to live and nurture, you still haven't been able to answer the five month old question if you'd rather go out to dinner to 529 Wellingtons or KFC in the Polo Park food court, because being within 10 feet of another human being for thirty minuets is a dedication you're not ready for. But hey, it's not lost yet, he'll come around, surely that man that's been eager to be bounced around on you're blind, Nascar speed, equally as circular, drive though confusion corner will be more than just simply delighted to dance, bend over, and shove his own head up his ass happy, along with your insanity. But until he shows up, lets see what option B looks like now that the world handed him the devil's hand. My ideal partner is going to be a woman that doesn't give a flying fuck in hell about what she wants, it doesn't matter anymore because she's proven herself incapable of a decision that works to improve her own life. She needs to be eager and willing to make him a happy partner though thick and thin, and if he's not happy, she's not in the slightest ever going to be happy, because all that's left beyond her confused little clogged super highway mind of double thought and split concentration, is his satisfaction. When it feels good, keep doing it, and heck, if it didn't feel all that great and it made him smile, well, isn't that what counts in the first place! Others might call this an abusive relationship, but in the end, would it matter? Because the alternative was the mentally abusive relationship that would have been brought to the poor fucked up man that didn't realize soon enough that the love of his life was about as stable as nitroglycerin mixed in with the qualities of some ostentatiously lofty attitude, that thinks it smells as fine and soothing as freshly cut grass. Do the math for yourself ladies, someone's been spending six years trying to impress you, prove himself above the crop, showing himself as a jewel among the immature, and under developed manure, for the last Friday of every week, trying to cater to your whims and desires, show you his stability and kindness, goals of a guaranteed career, even a little online gandering and still met with the wall of confusion nearly a dozen times over each day. But in the end, I still don't want to lash out, I still don't see myself lowering my mentality into the abyss of an animal, I'll wait, I'll keep myself quietly in the corner until some bitch lest herself show up and actually ask for this perfectly bread asshole to scoop her up and take her into the living fantasy she has always wanted. The years of my life have gone by in the wink of an eye, and to have them pass again, I've only needed to blink twice, she'll show up, and when she does, my satisfaction will be complete. Buuut.... Oh FUCK OFF! This can't even work either! I can't be a bastard because no one out there wants a man that has a grasp on his life, he can't be human for god's sake. Even if he shows the slightest of independence that asshole is far too controlling! Where was the space he said I could ask for! (but never did) Where was the freedom to do what I want! (I always never used) How come he never listened to everything I never said in the first place! (Except in my own head) So that's it, how did it happen? when did we magically find that right person, because I've sure as hell found out, there's something to envy in those couples, perhapses they were just equally as patient to realize.... I'm stuck with a sub-par human. Unfortunately I can't deny for the better part the mirror reigns true, there are men that play the same game to women. They'll lure in playing the sweet and darling, pull you in just close enough, and when the time comes, they whip out the slap in the face across your cheek with their dick. I've often times find myself loathing his kind of man, and certainly I wanted to prove myself better than them, that I can try in earnest to be someone that's not going to leave you out in the rain, only to find myself in the downpour. So I've made this to the fact I'm not stretching my neck anymore, I've been tempered into a recluse.
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