Sometimes I'm very happy that I'm not in a secure romantic relationship. I dunno, it just seems to me that people who are in really healthy relationships are really, really boring. I mean, where's the spice in emotional security? Where's the excitement in this:
"I love you, my love."
"I love you too, my love, until our planet meets its demise at the hands of an asteroid, for as long as my body can still produce breath and excrement unaided by hospital machines, until Jesus comes back and we kill him again, I will, always love you, my love."
You see? No excitement at all. No umph. There's no jealousy, no distrust, no acerbic barbs that subtly scar two lovers until their hearts cauterize from the daily onslaught of passive-aggressive remonstrations. Now that shit, that's fun to me. Not knowing where you stand with someone, being so full of self-doubt that you question everything, believing nothing the person you're with tells you. I'm talking about the emotional equivalent of being an illiterate serf in Europe in like1204, and the bible is in fucking Latin and you can't read the gospels for shit even if it was in your language, and your priest has got you convinced that every little thing you do is gonna land you in hell. "The harvest failed this year... I'm done for." Now that's a relationship you maricóns!
I don't know why I find stability so boring. Maybe it’s my parent’s crappy marriage and subsequent divorce that sculpted my perceptions at a young age. I just found it way more interesting when my dad was trying to defend himself against my mother's sister slashing at him with a knife, or when immediately following my parent’s divorce, my dad would stop by the house under the pretense of visiting me and my younger brother, but he was really just coming over to take furniture that he bought during their marriage back to his new apartment.
“WHERE IS THE BUMBACLOT LAMP IN THE LIVING ROOM!” my mom would say when she came home from work to find another piece of furniture missing. “Daddy came to visit again, Mom!” I’d tell her, and my mom would flip the fuck out and I’d get a real kick out of the creative way my mom could curse. It sounded like she was reciting an incantation or something, like she was a Jamaican sorceress.
Please, don’t get me wrong Reader, I do think Love is grand and all that, and that Love is really the only thing worth living for, and sometimes when I’m on slutload.com, or wankdb.com, or on tnaflix.com, I do stop and say to myself “Man, I think I need a girlfriend, all this semen is getting wasted on pixel women.” That’s when I fish out an old issue of Playboy from my bookshelf and pretend the glossy finish of the magazine’s pages are the silk panties of a super cute girl and I think, “Now this is more like it, something tactile to get biz to. This love is really real. I wonder if the girl in the centerfold would come alive like in Weird Science if I smeared my cum all over this page and wished really hard for her to be real? Only one way to find out.”
Yeah, that shit didn’t work.
(Hi Ladies!)
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