Negation Aspiration vol. 103

Toronto van driver pledged allegiance to “involuntary celibacy” group on Facebook

i've made a lot of jokes at the expense of persons such as this, but i'd be lying to myself and everyone if i didn't own up to the fact that their pathology has mirrored my own in many of my darker instances; sexual frustration, having no game, lack of upward mobility, numerous mounting resentments handicapping your ability to escape your own head, boiling your brains in your obsessions, you and the outside world locked in a two-way death wish, the later a mocking barrage of smiling faces and happy couples invading your cluttered space of gore music and serial killer memorabilia.

 you want to open up, tell them what's bothering you in a plainspoken, un-accusatory manner, but it doesn't seem to ever come out as anything more than a garbled scream of convoluted paranoia, putting even further distance between you and them. and so you shut up, slink away, and resume the simmer.

I'm glad I grew up having actual hobbies so that by the time we went online my interests were strictly in the realm of Spawn, ECW, Death Metal, weird movies, and titty butts, rather than these overflowing septic tanks of whitemeat hostility and weaponized neediness.

 i've been worried for some time about where this seemingly endless stretch of being alone might lead, when or if i will figure out a way to crawl out of this ass-mud... but i will never justify what men like this do or how they view the world; their entitlement, their narcissism, their manipulatively predatory self-pity, their putty-minded persecution complex, their self-destructively stubborn dependence on the ugliest of binary choices.

Also Might not be the worst thing to Teach boys and young men that bottomless pits of cash and gash =\= happiness. Look at President McBoogerBalls; clownslop has more money than he knows what do with, married a model, has banged playboy bunnies and world renowned porn stars, and he's still an invariably miserable, terminally insecure, thoroughly unremarkable translucent garbage bag of ruptured hemorrhoids, house fire doll hair, hospice bedpan secretions, and grade Z pigmeat, his roach-grist brain matter forever trapped in an arms race between malicious idiocy and baffling hideousness.

 The world isn't yours or theirs.

 sorry, ladies.