My luck with women.

Sarcasm – In a few words: mockery, cynicism, disdain. <- What you need to understand to get through this post without “catching” feelings!

I think the “complicated relationship” option on Facebook was meant for me or for people like me! Why? Well, I’m still trying to find myself in this grown up world {let it be noted that I may never find myself} and the journey to self realization is very tricky especially when you realize that it’s not an actual journey! Here I was thinking that the self realization involves climbing mountains, living with monks for a while then heading back to the hood with real life skills! {I watch way too many Chinese movies}

Ok, back to my complicated relationships and to be precise, my luck with women. Here is the thing; the sarcastic fuck in me has been getting in the way of my getting laid! That cockblocker has held my genitals hostage; there is no going out! It’s the death of my sex life via sarcasm with the help of an ounce of some sort of honesty… I think I’m coming down with a serious case of walking the ‘righteousness path’. I have acquired a zero tolerance to lies when it comes to women. I think it is common knowledge that you may have to lie to get into someone’s pants especially if there is no panty dropper in sight or if the said panty holder is an upcoming Semenya. {Why would any guy sleep with a Semenya?} But seriously, how do you entice the not-so-attractive lass into sleeping with you? I can’t tell her she’s hot when she ain’t and that’s where the problem lies; for instance a lady asks one of those seemingly innocent questions and the cockblocker in me loads the not-getting-laid mode:

HER: Hey, what do you think of my dress?

ME: What am I supposed to think about it?

HER: I don’t know, how does the fucking dress make me look?

ME: Honestly?

HER: Yeah, honestly!

ME: Well, the dress is okay, it has nice flow but it’s a little tight on the waist!

HER: No, it’s not.

ME: It is but hey, I’m not wearing it, maybe it’s not tight, I wouldn’t know!

HER: Oh, come on, you can do better than that. (I take that as a real challenge!)

ME: Ok, if you insist, you outgrew that dress ages ago and yes it is tight, very tight. It outlines the panty you have on…

HER: I’m not wearing anything under this dress!!

ME: OH! That is all you? So what are those irregular curves on your rear thighs? (pointing to her cellulite)

HER: Curves? What curves? Oh no, you did not just call me fat?

ME: Come on, don’t be a bitch, you are not fat but you ain’t a model either…!

HER: So I’m a fat bitch now? You look at me and all you see is a fat bitch…?

For the rest of that conversation, she promises to have my balls for supper. ‘My balls for supper’? Really, doesn’t she have enough fat in her system already?

Yeah, I’m not the most romantic guy you’ll ever meet but what I lack in romance I make up for with a big di… Oh fuck no, let’s not got there.

In my defense, women nowadays make it so hard for me to give a positive honest compliment. I mean, what are you supposed to say when a woman asks how her hair looks when she has the latest sew on from China?

HER: What do you think of my hair-do?

ME: What hair?

HER: The hair on my head, dumbass!

ME: Oh, yeah that contraption? Ummm, the horse suffered for nothing!

Do you see how easy it is to never get laid? But I forgive weave bearers, that raccoon on most women’s heads is a global craze; even drags are doing it. What I can never spend a gram of sarcasm on is a wig. Know it? That thing that looks like it’s giving head to a lady’s head? It’s the 21^st century, wigs should have died in the nineties and for a woman with a wig, I don’t need bad luck to not get sex from her. I’ll kindly say no! I’ll even try to be ‘sensitive’ about it, “hey, I’m really flattered that you are in the mood to pretend to make a baby with me but you are too fat for my taste…” You can’t refuse sex on the basis that she has a wig, now can you? Fat is far less heartbreaking but don’t take my advice, it never works.

Look at this way, the reason I have shitty relationship with women could be because a higher being is aware of my excellent bed-room skills and has lined up a worthy “opponent” to take me down, go down on me, make me go down on her, have me begging for mercy, make me scream like a girl! {Ignore that last part, I would never scream, no matter how good the sex is} You know, whatever fetish the “opponent” fancies.

——————————————————

LAME-JOKE-ALERT:

PARTING SHORT: What is ‘parting short’? Is it when you take a midget and cut him in half? Anyway, parting shot; I read somemwhere that sex makes you look good and feel younger. This researchers need to get a life. Like we didn’t have enough reasons to get laid; but don’t get me wrong, if sex makes you look good then by all means please get laid. What I have a problem with is how ugly…., no ugly is such a bad word. I’m worried that the not-so-good-looking and old people among us will start offering themselves to just about anyone with the hope that after a bagging several shag mates they might turn their faces around, literally. You know, start looking good and shit. Bitch please, that shit ain’t gonna happen!

I cannot force you to like me on Facebook or follow me on Twitter and if decide to not follow/like me, it’s probably for the best; I’m a loose canon on social media. I also have a Google plus account but that shit gets dizzy when they start talking about circles. I didn’t fair well in athletics and I don’t think I’m up for it now; going in circles is really not my thing…

This is the longest ‘parting short’ I’ve ever seen.

Enough of that, it’s Saturday; let me go try to get some life, it’s been an elusive bitch lately…

Ok, before I go, what does, “…too fat for my taste…” mean? Are we all a bunch of cannibals waiting to run out of food and pounce on each other? OK BYE.