2-13-20
It’s a hard time. Yesterday my “sober birthday.” Haven’t drank in six years. Tomorrow Valentine’s Day. I sent a valentine to Angela. She’d complained about me never sending one. It takes four days to ship. Day two she says she’d never be with me. She yo-yo’s back and forth and my being depends on whether there’s hope with her. There isn’t. Whether she means it doesn’t matter. The words true even if she just has PMS.
I could try again. And in the meantime what. I’m laying there with Lily, her legs like bones, just hearing that song and thinking of Angela. She doesn’t want me. I’ll go to the Philippines. You keep writing the same thing. Well the same thing keeps happening.
Hate myself for not having the nuts to quit my job and fly to her. Afraid of nineteen hours and an earache to get told fuck off. My job is not cruel. It gets grueling but not always. Some days I get paid to look at Twitter. But I don’t want to go in there today and be a dying old secretary who takes dictation. Today I want to fly to Portugal. I make a lot of money, that’s something. When I go to spend it the reptilians will dissolve the banks. So there’s Valentine’s Day and then next Wednesday is my “natal” birthday. I’m going to be 44 years old. Ridiculous. At least I look pretty good, or never looked good to begin with. At least I have Nintendo. At least I have a yard. Cold out here but the grass is nice.
At least I have what. Two years of money. At least I have a job- fuck you. At least I have a family- OK that’s good. At least have sobriety- it means little. Just heaping more self help shit on my life now. Spending my hooker budget on Jungian analysis which makes me a bigger weepy pussy than before. My scrotum desiccated, nuts the size of chick peas. My loads maybe one good shot and then, minutes later, a pathetic dribble. The dermatologist said I wasn’t going bald. He made his hot nurse come in while I stood naked so he could check my sac for moles in the 40 degree room. Infantile blue acorn head and bristly white nut hairs pricking up like a porcupine from a ball bag that belongs on a child or a 120 year old man. She could only see the back, thank God. My brick hard ass which was my winter project. “Penis looks good,” he said, and I said “thank you.” She didn’t react.
My natal birthday. Family will text me and no one who wants to fuck me. I love them but I have– I’m afraid to say “I have too much wholesome shit.” Afraid God will hear me and kill someone I love out of spite.
I’ll keep living. No matter what happens I’ll keep living. If you read about me dead the reptilians got me. I’ll keep living but I’m tired of shit being like this, and it’s always like this this time of year. Pitiless earth revolving around the pathetic weak sun hitting this one damn spot every time where I get old, and you try to complain and people tell you be grateful. Eat shit.
**
It’s a week later. I made it. No stress at work. Everything’s going to be fine. I love Angela. Whether she loves me is immaterial. It’s warm and sunny out. Hasn’t rained too much this year. A woman walking by has a nice ass. Big titties. Monkey face but not too bad.
I’m not that old. Or I was old already. Either way not a big deal. I have money. I don’t have a small penis. I’m good looking. Pretty blue eyes. Nice car. I have a stray cat I take care of. The cat hangs out with a raccoon. The raccoon comes around with him. Washes nuts in the water bowl with his cunning paws. It’s like a free second pet. People say the raccoon will attack me. I don’t believe it. Don’t be afraid of a gift.
delicioustacos 
“Hate myself for not having the nuts to quit my job and fly to her. ”
That is your brains, not your nuts. Your nuts are the ones telling you to make a fool of yourself. Or maybe it is your subconscious telling you to try, out of a fear that your increasingly stable lifestyle will deprive you of the dramatic material for future blog posts. After all, once you find a proper girlfriend and settle down, what will you have left? You’d have to resort to fiction like sober people do.
I know I can’t convince you. There’s only one man who might. This is what Houellebecq did, via Wikipedia:
“He graduated in 1980, married and had a son; then he divorced, and became depressed.[citation needed]
He married his second wife, Marie-Pierre Gauthier, in 1998. They divorced in 2010.[8]
His third marriage was in September 2018 to Qianyum Lysis Li, a Chinese woman 20 years his junior,[9] and a student of his works.[10]”
He is telling you, onwards and upwards! It might take a while for there to be students of your work but in the meantime I think you can figure out what to do.
Congratulations on six years sober. If you’d kept on drinking, you’d never have finished a book and you’d be dead by now. Here’s to many more sober years to come.
Did you grow to appreciate the Legacy or did you get something else? Regardless, happy birthday.
happy birday, breh…
My birthday sucks too, I went to the strip club yesterday and spent the combined proceeds from birthday cards on a half hour private room with a girl that looked exactly like Vanessa Hudgens in Spring Breakers. She’s grinding and groping and cuddling and sucking my dick through my pants, and I’ve got barely a chub. I’m tensed up, my heart is beating, cold sweats, don’t want her mouth anywhere near my dick, cannot conversate or maintain a boner like this. But I think back now and remember her silly tattoos and wonderful wiggly ass and clitoris piercing and the dick is ready for action. WTF? Did porn do this? You’re much older than me and bursting with horniness, I have the opposite problem, I cannot for the life of me get comfortable with women. I like to look at them, and imagine a different life with them in it, I’m sold on the ideal of strong married mother and father. But women themselves? I don’t want to stick my dick in them, I don’t want them touching me. I’m not into the cock and balls and hairy muscular ass either. Ugh I could have bought new tires with the money I spent.
Dude just move to Washington DC. It’s a pussy buffet out there. The ratio of college educated women to men is 53/47. My best friend, almost 50 years old, has hotties in their 30s hitting on him because there’s not enough cock to go around. Even bitches who have met his GF flirt with him when she’s out of town.
It’s the one place in the US where women have to experience what men go through on a daily basis in the other 99.9% of the country.
Long ago I had an “Angela” too… her name was Dawn. I spent a lot of money, a lot of time, a lot of my soul… and of course some other schmuck is getting the ass now. Took me years to crawl out of that pit. I did it by cutting her off from communication full stop for over 2 years. Even now I might email her every year or two, to share something I know only she would find hilarious since we had an equally warped sense of humor that I find lacking in my current life… But I never, ever, ask how she’s doing. I don’t really care how she’s doing. My life is better now and I’m with a better person.
TLDR, you’ll find true lasting love when you ain’t looking for it. Until then, just make your dick happy. Happy sober birthday, and happy real birthday too.
Ditto about DC friendo. My fucking god. I’m married with a ring, 42 yo, good looking guy with hair, blue eyes like you, etc. etc. – these details just for a comparison if you were here. Anyway. Well let me tell you. The girls do not give a flying fuck about my ring or my wife. They will hit on me, eye me up, literally approach me and start conversation… like…. at least two or three times a week, several times on weekends regardless of who is around or who I am with. Cock starved. If you are a decent looking guy you are a fucking god out here. I swear. Trade your financial shit out here or whatever job you do, but it is an inverted universe out here bro. Insane. Out here its BGTOW, Bitches going their own way because there isn’t enough dick.
DC used to be a wasteland. Has it really swung in the other direction?
Instead of waiting for the answer to that question, ask yourself if the comments here come from a clear-eyed perception of reality or a depressive and masturbatory la-la land.
Just think of all those scorching hot DC babes, with their pencil skirts and jobs in the government. You remember high school, when all the hottest girls dreamed of becoming bureaucrats?
DC is rife with fags, so yeah, the sex ratio is in your favor. Pretty much everything else isn’t. If there are no actual men there, it might be for a good reason. You’re better off letting all that sweet policy pussy rot on the vine.
Or you could listen to the guy who still emails inside jokes to the ex he had to bring up who he absolutely does not care about anymore and is definitely 100 percent way better off without, the bitch. He seems pretty level-headed. His gay lover can barely stroll down 14th street without getting sucked off by all those cock-hungry whores. Have you booked a one way flight yet?
Or the guy who has–literally– at least two or three conversations with women a week, and more on the weekends. That ring is the only thing keeping his dick dry out in that gushing pussy jungle. Maybe trading your financial shit out there is the thing to do.
Wow, this site’s the last place I’d expect to find incel rage, but haters gonna hate, right?
Anyway, https://wamu.org/story/19/12/10/washington-has-a-shortage-of-single-educated-men-could-amazon-fix-that/
Believe it if you want, or be like Frank and assume it’s my imagination. 😉
I have a small penis. But I’m short so…