Tuesday, December 07, 2010

Internet Pussy: The Cave of Forgotten Dreams

I’m good at internet dating.

This means I’m good at taking a girl out, getting her a little drunk, and then fucking her. I’m good at steering the second date to dinner at my house so I don’t have to drive to get laid. I hear a lot of “I’m not usually like this” so I figure, you know, I must be onto something. Some skill I have at getting girls to fuck me that other dudes lack.*

Anyway. Point being, I am good at internet dating, and that is horrible, because it’s one of those things that if you’ve had enough practice to be good at it you’ve failed in some larger sense. Like— being good at pulling your own teeth. Being good at showing people you’re not a pussy when you show up to a new prison. It’s awesome that you’re a badass but the idea is that you figure your shit out and don’t have to go back. I wanted a relationship out of this, not 5,000 pieces of pussy. I wanted some god damn companionship. Someone I can call when the clouds are pretty or something and say, you know, go look at the pretty clouds.

Instead, I have merely gotten a ton of meaningless ass. And then I’ve taken the confidence from getting that ass and taken it into the real world to get other, even more meaningless ass. And it’s made me complacent. Maybe there is viable girlfriend material out there but I can’t be bothered to look for it because I’m driving out to Sherman Oaks to bone some nineteen year old.**

Unfortunately there is no way I (or you) am ever going to get an actual girlfriend off the internet. Never in a million years. Girlfriends happen when you are forced to be around someone. Like, she sits across from you at work. Probably she is not the hottest girl in the office but you get to talking and joking around a little bit and she becomes one of those girls where there is just something about her. You are spending half your work day ichatting with her and then by night you head home to feverishly masturbate to the thought of bending her over her desk. This is what the beginning of love is, jerking off to the same person every day. And she starts dropping hints that the boyfriend isn’t quite living up to expectations. There is some trait that is missing in him that will never be there. Something that you have. And then one night you invite her out to a party and she drives you back and follows you into your house and the next Monday you don’t quite know how you’re going to act normal around her and was it just a one time thing and etc. etc. but for fucking once it’s actually exciting to go in to the office again. Something like that.

Or you take the same class or whatever. Or you run in the same social circle. Point being that you have to be around this person for some other reason, and slowly and naturally grow attracted to them over time. Once effort is introduced— once one person has to ask out the other person, because she looked cute in the grocery store, or is someone you would totally bone and she laughed at one of your jokes at a party— once effort is introduced, game is introduced. And game is just an I-out-ignore-you contest. It becomes a delicate little war where just one little misstep and the whole thing is fucked, and you’re forced into acting off a script and not seeming too eager, or whatever. And it becomes unnatural and weird and you start to resent the other person for not texting you back, but when she finally does you are nonetheless thrilled to get a text from this person you now hate,*** and you are strategizing, and the whole thing becomes work. Like you’re trying to land the fucking Proctor & Gamble account.

Anyway. I’m thirty-four years old and employed, and I still think like this. I am turning into the childless middle-aged woman with two pugs who pathetically brags to her coworkers about the handsome orthodontist off EHarmony who’s taking her to the Ground Round later. At this age my ball sack is getting to the point where it’s full of two-headed retards, and it’s about god damn time I found a nice girl and settled down. But it’s never going to happen. If you like them, they never like you. If they like you, you never like them. And we’re designed that way. The most repulsive thing in the world to a woman is when you are interested in her. It’s fucking perverse.





*But then again, after the 10,000th time you hear “I’m not usually like this,” you start to wonder. I mean, I bet you are usually like this. I’m sure as fuck usually like this and if I had my way I would always be like this. And what’s more, why are you telling me that you’re not usually like this— do you think I care? I hope you are usually like this. Fucking strangers off the internet is awesome and we should all do it more. I don’t give a fuck if you fucked some other guy before me— I’m not your Uzbek father trying to trade you for sheep.

** Being a guy is so much about getting ass that sometimes, like- you always want to fuck, but also, I frequently find myself getting ass for the sake of being able to get other, future, ass. Like, if I get this ass, if I then run into other superior ass soon it is much more likely that I will get that ass due to the confidence from just having gotten this ass.

There is just nothing else that really gives you that bone-deep level of confidence. I can have amazing things going on in my career, look great, ripped, white teeth and a tan— I would trade all of that for the feeling when you wake up after 4 hours of drunken sleep next to some random girl you porked off the internet. When you have just torn off some new ass, there is literally nothing in this world that can get to you. When I find out I have terminal cancer, if it’s right after I got some ass, I will be smiling. Everything else can go wrong, but AT LEAST YOU GOT LAID.

***By the way, text me back, you fucking twat. I know you read this.

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