So, over the last few months I've been tryin to clean up my act. With the red dot of graduation's sniper rifle twinkling between my eyes, there really appears to be no other choice.
I've cut back on drinking, smoking, and even my favorite past-time, “womanizing.” The first two were decently difficult to pull off; I basically had to stop answering my phone, as my graduated/non-college friends would call me up on a Monday morning and shout “HEY LET'S GET DRUNK YEAH MAN!” and I'd of course, be up for the challenge of downing a few car bombs before I went off to Brit Lit.
Smoking–the bastard fuck of addictive substances–actually wasn't nearly as bad as one would think, also. If you know me in real life, you'd know that I smoke about two packs of cigarettes a day, or so I did. I'm happily down to less than a pack a day now and even getting up a little before class to jog. Having a little extra energy to insult my professors is always a nice little cherry on the top of being a douchebag in class.
With all of this information, I should say I'm not your Campus Crusader at all. Last weekend, I got shitfaced at 5, passed out at midnight, woke up at 1, yelled to everybody at the party “IT'S GOD, AVERT YOUR EYES!” about a lightbulb, passed out for 15 minutes, woke up, puked, and finally played a few games of beer pong with at least 4 shots of tequila somewhere in the mix. I'm a senior but I'm still a student at West Virginia University goddamnit.
Then we have the women.
Until my decided cool-down, I was knee-deep in pussy. I actually have a prostetic leg because my right broke off inside of one. And you know what, fucker? I'm not bragging. It's as much of a fact as Darfur is fucked. And speaking of fucked, (though not to bust on him), it's just that a good buddy of mine recently got the clap. I found this out in a detailed bar conversation about safe sex, religion, and fire-piss, mind you. So, of course, now I certainly don't want to go around banging every Jane Big Tits on campus. I already liked to be selective, though. This is just a step in the “I'm not going to use you for sex” bullshit.
What I've noticed in all of this cleaning up is that the old me could keep a girl interested (the mild psycosis known by most guys as “Crazy Bitch Syndrome”) much easier than the “new” Nick Gaudio. For instance, a girl I was recently interested in a few weeks ago, told me, “all I want is your approval, I respect you so much.”
What?
Or should I say, what
the fuck? Women used to hate me! I used to hate women! (Let's keep things focused here for a minute, I used the past tense there for parallelism, I still hate bitches, cunts, whores, sluts, etc.) But now, they respect me? Are we in bizarro world? Where are my pants? Where are the legions of women who passionately what to kill/fuck me? This, I don't know.
I'd like to stop here.
to say that I'm not bitching at all. I'm all too familiar with guys who bitch about being nice to women and get shat upon. I know that deal from high school. What I'm getting at here is that women are constantly bitching about getting a nice guy. Aren't they?
“Um totally!”
“Spell it girlfriend!”
But the point here is that this girl had just gotten fucked over by a guy who was much like the way I used to be: haphazard and “a player” of sorts. And while I'm still the smartass I've been since birth (my mom and dad will tell you), I didn't come off in this way because I kept back all my misogynistic tendencies. I even stopped myself from having drunk sex with her (gasp!).
That said, you should know where I'm going with this folks. If not, get a fucking brain.
Women, your “plight” of finding a suitable guy is your own damned fault. Maybe it's biological, maybe it's just the simple fact that yous a crazy bitch. Either way, if you're a woman and can take Jimmy Badass's cock out of your mouth long enough to apologize, I think you owe mankind a big “I'm a dirty, lying slut and I'm sorry.”
The player is who you really want. And that's simply because 1) you love drama and 2) other women have wanted him. In other words, if I were to tell you how many women I've slept with, you'd get wet.
Dripping, even.
Fuck, you'd be a faucent.
Which has happened…
(She's on my speed dial.)
Oh, and as for ME?
Well of course I'm going back to how I felt originally:
I'm a dickhead and women, well…you're nothing but a bunch of dickhats.
And I think this picture wholly describes my thought process, now.…
