The Pussy

Write Her a Lovely Message…

Here’s the thing with me. I want to find a nice girl. But I also want to get you hammered in my filthy silverfish infested jack shack and rawdog you in the second hour of our first date. I’ll pull out. But maybe the one wild drop squirts in you and gets you pregnant and thinking about this is getting me hard on the train. This is not a proposition. I am not saying “hey let’s fuck.” You can’t do that. You have to pretend your conversation is about absolutely anything else. Your job, your TV, whatever. But what I am thinking is: hey let’s fuck. Then I can find out if you’re a nice girl. After. But until you fuck her you have no idea. All you’re thinking is will I fuck her can I fuck her God if I give her one more glass of wine she’ll fuck me. I hope I’m not blowing it I can’t afford this wine but I just need that ass so bad. One date, three, a year of friendship, whatever. Until you fuck you can’t turn that off.

And then you fuck. And it occurs to you that she’s boring. She laughs at your shit but never says shit that makes you laugh. She’s “feisty” and adversarial and you mistook that for a sense of humor when your ball sac was burning white hot through your bluejeans. But now she’s just a pain in the ass. You are probably one of these girls. All but maybe five of them have been. Nothing against you though. My definition of boring is most people’s definition of a happy, successful life. I do not have a happy, successful life. I want you to be a sad broke drunk like me but secretly think you’re some genius with a biting wit so having no money is OK. Compulsively tearing up meaningless pussy (or cock, in your case) on OKCupid is OK. Debasing people is OK, dehumanizing people is OK. Debasing and dehumanizing yourself. Because you’re a secret genius. Better than everyone else. And maybe the world will never know but you know and people can see it in your eyes. I want you to be like this. Then it will be us against the world .

But you’re not. I know already that you offer me nothing. But you are pretty. I want to have sex with you. I also know that you are blonde haired blue eyed slender traditional beauty with a college education so fucking you will be an extraordinary hassle. White girls are hard. It’s easier when you’re exotic to somebody. To you I’m just every douche on your high school lacrosse team.

And what a pain in the ass you are already. Your messages are nothing but “dance monkey dance.” Your profile is just one bit of banal self-aggrandizement after another. Like most women. If it weren’t for the genetic accident of your face looking like a small child I would have muttered go fuck yourself as I clicked OKC’s convenient trash can icon. But no one does that to you. They do it to the fat girls but never to you.

They do it to the fat girls but the fat girls still write one bit of banal self-aggrandizement after another. I love my job I love my school I am an artist I am “brainy” I am living my dreams. I am a yogini! I will whoop your ass at scrabble. If one of you had hemorrhoids and wrote an essay about groaning in agony each morning squeezing out hot bloody shit nuggets I’d marry her. If one of you said I dropped out of school and I work a shit job and I have to drink a pint of rotgut at the exact moment the sun goes down to keep my hands from shaking… where are you, lover. We drink tonight under the same moon. We could have top shelf liquor if you’d split the rent. Where are you.

It’s not you. Your shit is too together and no one ever tells you you suck. I’m not saying you suck either. You could be great but I’m never gonna know. You can’t know someone until you fuck them. And I think you’d take more than one date to fuck. Who has that kind of time.