This article will be quite personal and
I’m probably going to say a lot things I regret. I’m apologizing for that in advance as I
don’t want to put any unwanted stress on our relationship.
So if any of you actually read what I write, you may remember an article I wrote about a
year and some change ago about becoming recently single. Not much has changed.
Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t been a lonely hermit, confined to his gaming chair, drinking
Red Bull and playing Final Fantasy VI over and over ad infinitum covered in Cheeto dust.
I’ve been out there mingling, meeting, dating and screwing things up. Which brings me to
this:
If I had one superpower, it would be the ability to break up with someone painlessly.
You see, I’m fucking terrible at ending relationships, no matter how insignificant they
may be. I currently possess the uncanny ability to transform women into rage-filled
demons, complete with toothed vaginas, razors for nails and cobras for hair. Like
a cross between Pumpkinhead and Vega from Street Fighter, but with an angry vagina.
I’m not precisely sure of what causes this phenomena, but I’ll fill you in on some
details to offer an intriguing mystery for the more perceptive of readers out there.
Most recently I dated a nice girl with strong family values and a clean mouth. She was
often intrigued by the stories I had to tell of my life experiences. I kind of felt like
a badass telling her stories about how I’d been arrested for rolling down a concrete hill
naked at 3 am, covered in dried Goldschlager (I also had to explain the reason behind
the strange scar on my penis). I could tell that the music I listened to and played
intimidated her and would probably force her parents to shit golden baby Jesuses.
She was the type that accepted everything as it were; never questioned a thing. Her opinions
were flimsy at best, and she didn’t really have strong feelings on any particular subject.
I told her that I was going to buy a tattoo gun and tattoo my own thigh. I told her it would
give me something to do while I was pooping. I continued on about how the tattoo was going
to be of Robocop in a bikini having a water balloon fight with a troll. She believed me.
Then she asked me what a robocop was. That was the moment I knew I had had enough and needed
to break things off. I mean, she never wanted to challenge me in Street Fighter, didn’t
really care for or dislike Hellraiser, and now she’s asking me what a Robocop is?! I mean,
get fucking real. It’s like she lives in some fantasy world where these things don’t matter.
Well, I decided that something had to be done.
So what did I do? Well, I went out on a date with this other girl I thought was pretty hot
with these hot boobs that I thought were sexy. After a pleasant date with hot boobs, I
decided that a.) I wanted to continue to see hot boobs and b.) that meant I had to tell
‘doesn’t know what a robocop is’ that we couldn’t see eachother anymore. Holy shit, the
anxiety and anticipation of telling a girl that you can’t go out anymore is fucking awful.
I paced and paced and ignored a few of her angry phone calls wondering where I was until
I finally found what was left of my manhood and dialed her number. I told her some lies
to soften the blow. I told her that I wasn’t really in a great place to date anyone right
now and that it wouldn’t be fair to her if we continued dating just for her to get hurt
further down the road. Well, she cried a bit, which sucked because I’m horrible with crying
women. After a few days, she sent me a polite message on facebook that expressed her
interest in remaining friends. To be honest, I have no interest in being friends with
someone that doesn’t know who Robocop is, so I didn’t write back immediately. Apparently
that was a bad move as the next day, my inbox was pleasantly greeted by another message
from her. This time, I can actually sum up what was said fairly accurately to you:
“Dear cockjockey,
I fucking hate you. You’re a piece of shit, please die in an icestorm.
Regards,
Still Doesn’t Know What a Robocop Is”
Well, at least I was able to finally bring her to a strong opinion about something. That
message still gives me hair boners. Oh, for fuck’s sake, she was confused by that too. I had
to explain that hair boners were what simple folk commonly refer to as “goosebumps”.
So now I find myself dating hot boobs and watching my interest level dive into a pool of
warm regret. Not regret that I broke up with that one idiot that was nice and doesn’t play
Street Fighter, but a much deeper regret. Regret that I can’t seem to find someone that
lines up with me very well. Someone witty that understands sarcasm. Someone that will talk
shit and can take it when I hurl it back at them. Someone that not only wants to play Contra
with me, but that won’t start stealing my lives by the waterfall stage. Someone
that not only knows who Robocop is, but understands his importance in culture. Someone
with hot boobs. Someone who will watch horror movies with me and has strong opinions on
everything. Someone who thinks everything is either the best thing in the world or the
worst thing in the world. A girl that appreciates the term “hair boners”.
I’m 29 now and I realize that at this point I should be a grown-up with a career and
a house that I own with some children that I own. Yet I am a free spirit that loves Double
Dragon, Hellraiser, metal and hair boners. Roam free, insensitive geeky one, roam free.
We are probably quite a like when it comes to picking out women! Someone that has a lot of opinions & a great knowledge base is always Very hard to find..
I’ may have left a few ‘breaking up’ tip advice things on this website way back in the day, basically with a few rules: 1. Never bring a girl your dating to your place. 2. Maximum of 2 months before you have to decide to call it off or not. 3. Only see the person max 1 – 2 times a week – This gives you the ability to date multiple women & keeps the dating somewhat loose. 4. Don’t add them to your facebook page (as long as possible) and finally – 5. Try to drive them away by simply fading these things away…. .. all of these things were well practiced by me – the only girls I really liked – did I stray from those positions..
That all being said – This story had me cracking up! I absolutely loved the thing she wrote you and it would have made me say…. well, crap.. Maybe I should get back w/ her lol…
Haha. Sounds like we do have the same approach. Unfortunately, she didn’t write her message the way I summed it up. It was much more of an angry message with no comedic value whatsoever, but that summary was at least how I interpreted it.
I’m very glad that, first of all, you realize and acknowledge in your first paragraph that we both have a relationship. We both share the same problem, and so there is, in the long-term, a sort of ‘bond’ between us that ensures you will play a certain way if I choose Sephiroth and you choose Cloud in a Tactics type game.
But I see you have already been beaten down by two other women, and, having assumed a sort of female Summon for you, I now see it should probably have been a male Summon.
Please wait while I go change underwear.
Suddenly the whole house is burning, and I’m going to have to save Richard Branson’s grandmother for you. I run, kicking at the kids, telling them to evacuate the area if they think their lives are worth it. In the other room, Branson’s grandmother is about to launch her jetpack to escape, but I cleverly tackle the stupid old woman. In a dizzying dally, I snatch the biddy in my baby pouch and like a kangaroo, hop down the stairs and fling her across the lawn. She reaches the bloody end of the garden. If this was American Football, they’d be smashing my head with champagne bottles, screaming bloody “touchdown”.
See what I do for you? Ok, ok, so it’s just a Summon. It only lasts about 5 seconds, while the rest of the game, you’re wandering in interesting areas that some Japanese people think are worth wandering in.
Well, it’s not. Let me tell you that just by summoning me, you have changed your entire Fate. Fate doesn’t look like what it used to be before: You sitting around with some random stupid cute chick in Branson’s Spaceship on its inaugural journey.
No. For you, I have made special arrangements that you will be seated at the *window* seat on the sub-orbital flight. And I have ensured that Branson seats his grandmother right next to you, on the aisle seat.
She will be your Last Boss.