I Live Alone

I live alone.  It’s great if you like shitting with the door open, which I do.  It’s great if you like jerking off.  I can jerk off anywhere, any time, for any reason.  It’s great if you like making food with strong-smelling sauces that you then fail to refrigerate because you’re drunk and instead let sit on top of the stove at room temperature for several days. It’s great if you like leaving your brightly colored American Apparel® “mantie” underwear scattered in various corners instead of the readily available laundry basket, and the clean laundry is also in an unsorted pile next to this laundry basket, and you forget which brightly colored American Apparel® “mantie” underwear you have worn and which you have not, and you can’t tell by smelling them, even the clean ones still smell slightly like taint, the way your mouth still tastes a little bit like puke even after you brush your teeth– but who cares, because no one’s going to be smelling your balls today anyway.  Maybe just turn them inside out to be safe.

I live alone, or rather, I live with my cat, who doesn’t really give a shit about me.  I don’t even have cable.  I have a fish tank but there are no fish in it because the rare Zimbabwean cichlids I had cared for in this tank died in a heat wave, despite being from fucking Africa.  Africa!  They died, and the dealer who sold these rare African cichlids left town and the fish were just so delightful that I couldn’t bear to replace them with something inferior.  African rift lake cichlids have evolved many unique and fascinating behaviors over millions of years of geographic isolation; you can’t just replace that with some dumb fucking goldfish that starts swarming the fucking filter hole thinking you’re going to feed it as soon as you walk in the room.  I feed you once a day, you fucking dick– sometimes I am entering my own house for a purpose other than feeding you.  Even if you missed the food the instant it dropped into the filter hole it’s not going to go anywhere but within the extremely confined space I keep you in.  I am confident that you would be able to access the food even if it landed somewhere else in the tank.  Cichlids, you don’t have to tell this shit.  They just know.

I live alone.  In theory I could walk around nude at all times but I am so disgusted by the sight of  my own ball sac that I don’t.  I get dressed even on days when I don’t have to go to work.  The days when you would most want to be undressed– the hot ones– are the days when my ball sac is at its most horrifyingly distended and hideous to look at, so, you know– nature is cruel.

I live alone, but I want a girlfriend who I can live with.  Or at least I think I do, until I get one, and then she is just fucking stupid and annoys the shit out of me.  She turns out to snore or something and the whole situation just becomes intolerable.  Still, I go on tons of dates trying to meet somebody.  I go on dates off the internet.  It’s great if you like fat chicks.

I live alone and I will probably die alone; my poor cat trapped in the reeking apartment agonizing for days over whether to eat my eyes. At least he can drink from the fish tank.  But no one will come.  Their calls and emails and texts and IM’s will go unanswered and they will think I’m just holed up with some girl or in a bad coke hangover or just so surly and crabby from work that I’m blowing them off.  Not hearing from me for several days is a normal occurrence because I am a horrible friend, son and brother.  I will die alone while masturbating.  Weird porn will be on my monitor, horse porn or small penis humiliation or something.  Some unspeakable still off of 4chan.  I will die alone with my dick in my hand.  But at least I was doing what I loved.

Tags: african rift lake cichlids, american apparel, marion cotillard savaging my meatpipe like a raccoon battling a moray eel, okcupid