The smell of alcohol, sweat and shame hung heavy in the night air as I made my way through seas of young, vibrant gyrating bodies.  The call had went out, understood by all despite the toxic inebriation that most youth possess on a Saturday night.

The sweet nectar of the barley gods touched my lips not for the first time that night, and as I drank from the glass goblet of the king, she caught my eye.

Skulking, dancing in and out of the shadows she approached me.  Her lips, full and red, her breasts swollen and lustful, the haze of inebriation caused other swellings to go by the wayside.

I could think of nothing that I wanted more than to touch my lustful goddess, yet alas her beauty filled the entire backseat of the taxi and I could not help but adore her from the front seat, dazed by what was to come.

Our bodies intertwined in a lustful embrace, we made our way to the bedroom, hardly noticing the appliances falling, crashing around us in our haste to embody the sweet taste of young lust.

Draped over the dresser her clothing was, the folds and billows resembling the most beautiful silk in all of China.

I fell onto her, resting in the soft embrace, reveling in the beauty, every fold, ever dimple, every billow of her satiny body.  I slowly made my way down her body, kissing here, nibbling there, stopping to inhale the pungent aroma of womanhood.  I stopped, suggesting we move our passion to the shower.

The water cascaded around her body, creating a sheen akin to thousands of beautiful gleaming gemstones.   She held the soap in her elegant, bulbous hand, bubbles cascading down her body and silhouetting her generous curves like a waterfall in a beautiful rain forest.  Looking, lusting, hoping and praying, she bent over to pick up the soap so lovingly dropped, pausing only to look back at me with a glance of whimsy.

It was morning.  The song of a dozen birds swayed me gently awake, the dance of the golden morning sun opened my bleary eyes.  I saw my last call goddess, now wheezing like a crazed bovine, sprawled through the bed like a river winding through the natural beauty of a canyon. I thought to myself as I gazed upon this vision, “why is she still here?”

politically incorrect, talking out of my ass fat chicks, huge boobs, last call chick, romantic writing, suckage

I’m going crazy. Nuts. Bonkers. Oprah.

I mean, is this all there is to life? Work, sleep work. Work sleep work. Hand over most of your money to the government. Work sleep work. Sleep work work sleep work sleep work work work work.

I’m thirty-one years old, half way through life.

Yea, mid life isn’t supposed to be till between forty and fifty five. But think about it. If mid life is fifty five, why aren’t more people living until one hundred and ten?

BECAUSE MID LIFE ISN’T IN YOUR FIFTIES, YOU BOZO’S!

If I live until seventy, which is pretty average, then the middle of my life is thirty five.

Right around the corner.

I’m halfway done. That’s it folks, shows over, you suck, go to hell.

And what do I got to show for it?  A little house, a job, and a bunch of people telling me what the hell I should be doing.

Yea, call me a whiner. I don’t care if you do. Everybody thinks I’m an idiot because I’m not exactly like them anyways.

I realized that I’ve created a prison.  I’m a prisoner to my mortgage, and I’m a prisoner to my job.

I’m going to spend the next thirty years a slave to both those things, and oppressive debt.

Then, I’ll be sixty.  I might have some money, the pensions I’m forced to pay into might give me enough for cat food, if they’re even still around.

I’ll take one step into freedom and BOOM! Massive Coronary!  Stroke!  Mack Truck!  Pissed off gay rights activist!

And I’ll be dead.

And It’s all my fault.

Why the hell did I lock myself into this life of mediocrity?  Of boredom? Of taxes and forms and sucking the metaphorical junk of the man?

Why didn’t I join the army, or merchant marines, or become a bear wrestler in one of the former Soviet Union’s ‘Stans?

To all those of you who tell me I’m bad, I’m not right, I’m an idiot, I’m stupid because I’m not praying to the right god, or at the very least any god because oh my god how can you not EVEN believe in a god:

SCREW YOU!

To all those of you who tell me I’m bad, I’m not right, I’m an idiot, I’m stupid because I’m not married with children:

SCREW YOU!

To all those of you who tell me I’m bad, I’m not right, I’m an idiot, I’m stupid because I’m not involved with charities that mean absolutely nothing to me:

SCREW YOU!

And to all those of you who thing I’m a bad, bad, bad man because I don’t think exactly like you do in ever aspect of your wretched little life:

SCREW YOU!

If you agree with me, you can join me in the above prayer. If you don’t, than go screw yourself.

I’m going to change some shit.  I’ll either make myself happy or you’ll see the resulting explosion on youtube.

My money is on youtube.

dumb things I do to myself, rant explosions, job, mid life crisis, mortgage, suckage, youtube