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Tuesday, 16 February 2010

One is the loneliest number....but only because Two and Three are such dicks about it.

I wrote this a while ago and was sort of, holding back from posting it as some people may just view it as a dejected bitter rant hating anything to do with 'happiness and love'. It most certainly isn't, it's me standing up for people I know who are often trodden on and ignored, this is for you delightful folks.

Imagine if you had no arms or legs, no limbs whatsoever, you couldn’t help this; you were simply created that way, born into a sad little life where all you could contribute was being a makeshift coffee table or a poof. Are you in the mind of limbless potato person? Good, now imagine you often get wheeled out into town on the back of a wagon or something and you see all the bipedal limbed folk out dancing doing their daily routine, just jumping about and dancing and whatnot. This is obviously going to upset poor stump boy, no argument here. NO ARGUMENT I SAY! Now imagine if a lot of people go in front of stumpy boy (or stump woman, metaphors are not sexist here) and do various acrobatic manoeuvres right in front of his face, back flips, skipping, the conga, all with full knowledge of stumpy person’s sad lifestyle of being essentially a human paperweight. To me this is what public displays of affection are like if you’re awkward, introvert or a not as-cool-as-everybody-else-like-totally individual. You simply lay slack-jawed and shocked as these overt generic selfish bastardos gleefully flaunted their social status and general attractiveness with all the overt theatrics, genericism, and over the top ‘bullshit’ emotional attitude that modern society somehow deems acceptable and, depressingly enough, necessary. It’s apparently necessary to wear your love life and sexual status on your sleeve like some arrogant scarlet letter whilst declaring it to the world with all the vigour and ignorance of a religious zealot on the high street. And as stumpy you simply had to stand there and take it...well, sit there....lie there...STAY there. You simply have to take all this brash forwardness and almost spiteful behaviour, because if you were to be upset or annoyed and succumb to, EMOTIONS AND DAMN HUMANITY, you’ll be labelled as ‘depressing’ and ‘irritating’, all the while wanting to lash out and strangle these bastards. But you can’t because you’ve got no arms...freak stump boy you are.
This elongated smack to the face of a metaphor is essentially how I feel about public displays of affection, the bitter lonely curmudgeon I am. I’m not referring to hand-holding or the sort, I mean the full on acts that if done in public in the 16th century would probably have gotten you dismembered, I’ve been in groups of people where a couple have pretty much done all 4 bases and then go round for another game, (Urgh, crass terminology there I know) all whilst ignoring the awkward and quite offended reactions of their friends around them. People whose sentences usually consist of their love lives or feel that everybody in the immediate surrounding area needs to know all about their sex lives as if it’s information on par with John Lennon getting shot or a plague of mole people about to rise up and enslave humanity, with small pockets of human resistance fighting back these subterranean flea-riddled overlords. (But that’s enough about the south! HAHAHA! OH SNAP!!!! HAHAHA! FEEL MY PRIDE FOR MY GEOGRAPHICAL LOCATION!!....anyway).
I’m not against the whole notion of relationships and admiration, very much the opposite. What I am against is those who flaunt it like their some sort of fucking deity, making less-successful people feel quite bad about themselves, the sort of people who aren’t as confident or appealing as most fellows. I’m rooting for you, you hapless losers. (I’m allowed to say that). And why on earth do people get irate and tell these people to ‘stop being depressing’ ‘cheer up’ as if we’re a liability and only putting this on, that we have some instant joyous-switch like some melancholy robotic bastard child, I’ve noticed that some people aren’t helped when friends dismiss them or berate them for feeling lousy, this also probably isn’t helped by the fact a small minority of people flaunt their ‘happiness’ in their faces like completely ignorant fuckbuckets. The fact these people are content and satisfied is terrific, but no right to lord over those who aren’t as lucky or act better than them. Even Hitler had a girlfriend....I know that might work against me as well, but sod it, I like that insult.
There are also the folks who complain about stuff to people that hardly compare or are beyond ignorant, like going up to a crippled person and saying your legs itch. What’s that? You have to get up early on Valentine’s Day to spend the day together? Fuck off, I call Valentine’s Day ‘Thursday’, I think that shows who has the bigger right to complain here. Know what else is fun? Complaining about how much of a dickhead your ex was to somebody who has feelings for you, yet you won’t give them any chance whatsoever. Yeah that’s terrific for them isn’t it, tell them that somebody who you actually went out with was a complete utter fuckpot, it sure won’t make them feel in anyway depressed nor self loathing at how they’re apparently not as good as that. Whilst you’re there list the amount of guys you’ve ‘gotten with’ and lament the fact that ‘nice men’ are as hard to find as the holy fucking grail. I’ve never understood this myself, when I’m nice I come across as being a ‘friend’ whilst when I try to pull of this attractive confident dickhead routine I come across as...well a dickhead, no gimmicks here.

To me, being single for a very long time is almost like being Charlie in ‘Charlie in the Chocolate factory’, whilst everybody else lives in houses and with reasonable wealth, you’re stuck in some crammed turgid shack devoid of any hope and joy, instead replaced with general melancholy and mild racist ramblings from the legions of elderly cramped in one bed. I wondered why Charlie’s family didn’t simply kill the elderly relatives and consume them, I mean they obviously contributed nothing and spent all day confined to a bed, this would be a release from their depressing useless lives, and for a few months it’d stop the rest of the family living on a soup made of splinters, old beano issues and their own sweat and blood. But...that’s just me, which may explain my lack of relationships and BACK TO THIS ARTICLE! WOAH! SEE THAT?! Trippy right?! A total 360 there you shocked person you, fear my literary genius...
Anyway, in defence of all those hapless, shy, awkward individuals I say to the minority of you who I’ve spent the past 800 words ranting about (the rest of you are fine, have a collective high five or celebratory salsa) this.
We don’t care for a list of unusual places where you’ve had sex in a conversation where it serves no context whatsoever. We don’t care how you ‘love each other for life’ because you’ve simply confused it for lust towards the first individual to smother your mouth like a starving vampire. We don’t care for photos of you ‘getting off’ with your retard farmhand of a significant other. We don’t care if you haven’t seen each other for 29 hours. We don’t care if it’s your 5th month anniversary or any other fucking arbitrary date as if you’re the ‘rain man’ of relationship statistics. We don’t care for a list of why you love each other more than oxygen. We don’t care for you subtly asking us what we’re doing so you can reply with how amazing your day will be. We don’t care for you making a child when we’re trying to talk to you. We don’t care for the sheer contempt you may show on others. We don’t care for your numerous facebook albums that you parade in our face of you on the verge of fucking like lustful morons. We don’t care at all...seriously, but hey. What the fuck do I know right?

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