Diary: Worst Case Scenario

15 Dec
Aythya collaris

Aythya collaris

Let’s assume I never get laid again as long as I live. What happens. I have no children. Fine. I die alone. Fine. Age slowly, rot; disease, brain turned to mush. I forget who or what I am. Trapped in a state nursing home. Surly orderlies snap my arthritic fingers to get my rings. Shitting myself, fed from a tube jammed in my throat, no one to hold my hand as the pain takes forever to kill me. Each instant containing lifetimes. OK– this exercise was supposed to end in “that doesn’t sound so bad.” Fuck.

Try to hang myself but my bony arthritic hands can’t tie a knot. Wallowing in weeping sores in a hospital bed; I roll out and try to aim my head at the floor but it only breaks my face, my pelvis, thick needles ripping out of my arms…. you lose your ability to move but not your ability to feel… Jesus Christ. A friend from the past shows up; I mutely plead to be smothered with a pillow. He just kicks me in the nuts.

Only way to avoid this is to have kids. Only way to make kids is to get some ass. Right back where we started.

Last night I met a girl at a party. Got her phone number. This is a big step. I’m shy since I quit drinking. My sponsor tells me: Tinder girls are maladjusted cretins. That I’ll meet my future wife in the real world. He’s right about the first part, so I’m trusting him. I met a girl in life. I texted and asked her on a date. She has not responded. If she wanted the dick I’d have heard back by now. Sorry, not the dick– if she wanted to settle down in a nice suburban home. I’ll die alone.

Fuck these girls anyway. I know what I want. I just keep not finding it. A girl who’s all right looking and kind of cool. That’s it. All right looking means under a certain age and not chromosome damaged. Or any Asian. Kind of cool means she likes good books, she’s a poet, something. They’re not out there. Every woman I meet knows nothing and cares about nothing.

But I’m thinking the wrong way. Focus on what you can give to someone, my sponsor tells me. Well: I hate myself. I hate my face. Giant nose cracked in half, huge uneven nostrils flapping open; impossibly long white nose hairs. You trim but always miss a couple. They snake out when you’re going in for a kiss like blind sea worms grasping for her eyes. I hate my body. Starvation level body fat but still, folds when I bend over. I work out like a convict but only look good lit from the side, flexing so hard I grind my molars out of whack. I have no job no money no possessions and my house is full of cat hair and centipedes. I’ll never have the kind of life your modern woman requires. My beard is patchy. I have too many moles.

I hate myself and how could anyone ever love me. If I could write something good I’d love myself. But you get a good story about three times a year. It comes in the shower on a day you have time. Couple hours to crank out, couple more to edit and there you have it. But you aren’t responsible. It’s from some antenna you put out and it happens to pick up a signal. Ideas sit for years before the way to crack them hits you. You can’t force it. All you can do is try not to fuck it up. Stay out of its way. Don’t slack off and erase your mind reading about rape on Twitter.

What are you gonna do. Fucking relax. It’s a beautiful day and you’re at the duck pond. You’ve seen a ring-necked duck and 2 kinds of egret. Cormorants, male and female; one of them carried nesting material. Rough day overall but on the waterfowl front it’s a winner. So there’s that.

11 Responses to “Diary: Worst Case Scenario”

  1. Sylvia December 15, 2014 at 6:33 pm #

    Let me have your kids! Or rent your bedroom.

    • Sylvia December 15, 2014 at 6:34 pm #

      Oh, yeah, great post. You’re beautiful.

  2. rivelino December 15, 2014 at 6:56 pm #

    “impossibly long white nose hairs. You trim but always miss a couple. They snake out when you’re going in for a kiss like blind sea worms grasping for her eyes.”

    excellent story.

  3. Hajo de Villiers December 15, 2014 at 7:48 pm #

    You obviously have very high standards for yourself. I worry now that it’s bad to talk about throwing $5-spots at you like you’re some kind of street performer, like you would think it devalues your work, or like it would send you on some perfectionist thought-spiral of thinking of what is the *ideal*. But I mean to say that your words have real value. Besides, didn’t Edward Abbey say getting paid was the only reason he wrote?

    More on topic, yes — this is a truly sick, degenerate world that we live in. The vileness of our culture permeates all of us to varying degrees. Look at your dysmorphia, my torpor, my insecurity, etc. The fantasy is that we can just go to Southeast Asia and knock up some teenaged villagers, but it sounds realistic compared to the prospect of scraping out a healthy family here.

  4. Saul Tigh December 15, 2014 at 9:20 pm #

    You wrote better when you were drinking and taking drugs. This stuff is alright, it’s not bad, per se–but it lacks the raw manic genius of your booze-fueled rants.

    • Anonymous December 16, 2014 at 12:01 am #

      You’re crazy. No one cares that you have a boring life and you’re trying to live vicariously through a blog

  5. seriouslypleasedropit December 15, 2014 at 11:13 pm #

    Conserve emotional capital. Doesn’t matter how low it is—as long as a lifestyle is sustainable, it’s something to work with. Stay away from the fucking booze, even if you have to rob a few banks to make it stick.

  6. Intro December 31, 2014 at 11:46 am #

    I’m sick of this “I feel so sorry for myself” bullshit!

    If your beard is patchy go get a hair follicle replacement surgery! It costs about 5k and in a week your beard will look perfect.

    If you hate your nose hair get it lasered and you never have to trim it again.

    If your nose is THAT ugly then fucking get a nose job you asshole.

    All you need is to make MONEY. Money will set you free from your pathetic life.

    And then when you’re finally enjoying what you see in the mirror you will project enough positivity to get girls on the regular. Once you get girls on the regular there might be one or two who are wifey material among them.

    Stop feeling so sorry for yourself. You only need a couple grand to fix your physical features. But I’m guessing that won’t do it, you’ll still find some thing to complain about because that’s just who you are.

  7. Nick Fallin December 18, 2015 at 9:36 am #

    Was the drinking that bad now that its come to this? At least before you experienced some goddamn joy!

  8. wdmnjwczfh@gmail.com August 24, 2017 at 7:17 pm #

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  1. Diary: Worst Case Scenario | Manosphere.com - December 15, 2014

    […] Diary: Worst Case Scenario […]

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