Tag Archives: future wife

Someone Somewhere Tonight

2 Jul

I was googling “Kenny motherfucking Rogers” last night, as is my God given duty as an American.  I came across this post on a Phish fan forum in response to negative comments about Kenny’s performance of “The Gambler” with the band:

jilliebean(OP) • Mon Jun 11, 2012 12:40 PM:

You shut the fuck up and you have some god damned mother fucking respect. This man is a damned legend. No fuck that he is a LEGEND. He is musical royalty and you better bow down to the awesomeness that is the fucking Gambler. He is a real man. He is the kind of man who would fuck you up in the street old school style, with his fists and then he would fuck your woman after dinner and leave her before breakfast riding away on the back of a fucking horse and THEN he would write a beautiful song about it which would sell 250 million copies. And do you know what your girlfriend would do then? She would spend the rest of her fucking life reliving that beautiful act of love over and over in her mind and crying herself to sleep while touching herself wishing that you were a real man like Kenny. He knew when to hold them and when to fucking fold them. He fucked the likes of Dolly Parton, he is fucking a hotter girl right now than you will ever get and today, at 70 years old he could still take you behind the wood shed, kick your ass and then fuck your wook girlfriend just for fun. He was drinking hard and smoking and fucking before you were even a gleam in your mother’s eye. So you shut your pie hole you asses, or Kenny will come and shut it for you. Continue reading →

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To My Future Wife

13 Apr

I have been looking for you for fifteen fucking years. Different cities, different scenes. I dated a crackhead and a needle junkie, thinking they might be you. I went on dates with hundreds of girls. I went to every party, every bar, every class, every stupid fucking extracurricular activity looking for you. I was in a bunch of bands; I figured you might show up. I got a job in the movies so I would seem cool when I met you. I learned how to cook. I toiled at the gym for hundreds and hundreds of tedious hours so you would be pleasantly surprised when I took my shirt off. And still, to this day, I go out almost every goddamn night to some sadass sausage fest in the faint hope that you might be there. So how about this. How about YOU start fucking looking for ME. Whatever I’m doing is obviously not right and I’m not going to join a goddamn quilting class or something. I’m done. I’m going to be at my apartment playing Xbox and why don’t you just show up and fucking knock. I’m tired of paying all this rent.

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The Power of Prayer Part 2

29 Feb

Seriously: do not read this if it’s about you.

A little background.  Remember the future wife?  I prayed to God that I meet my future wife at the Short Stop; that night a hot chick talked to me.  I  went out with her, and a) I wasn’t that into her and b) I kind of blew it.

More background:  last week I went out with a girl off OkCupid.  She was kind of (REDACTED), but a) really, really, really beautiful and b) turned out to be literally my next door neighbor.  Like, she told me a bunch of stories about my cat.  I (REDACTED), but God damn she was fucking gorgeous.  One of those girls— like, beauty is just the absence of ugly.  It’s impossible to describe a beautiful woman’s face.  For a guy, you can say “strong jaw,” “high cheekbones,” etc. etc., or “chiseled” features, but for a girl, it’s basically— all beautiful women have the face of a six year old white child. And she does.  And I took her home; it got physical. We didn’t fuck but (REDACTED). But it was a win. I texted her the next day and said come over Friday and have some chicken.

Nothing back.  Nothing for days.  You start thinking– oh shit, did I blow it? Did I have no game, and should have waited, etc.  Well, fuck that.  Fuck “game.”  If you even have to think about game you have already lost.  I text girls when I want to see them.  Or when I think of a funny text.  I call them when I feel like talking to them.  Which is rarely.  The second you start communicating with a script and an agenda you are completely fucked; you are trapped in this counterintuitive, mercenary process, undermining yourself at every turn.
Continue reading →

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