Prologue
I was sitting in my
car on the first day of the spring semester, with that horrid soul crushing
bitch that I had long since lost interest in caring about spoke, “doesn’t it
feel like we’re friends instead of dating?”
I replied,” No, it feels like you’re an inhuman monster whose sole
dedication in life is to destroy my happiness and make me miserable, I’d
consider you an antagonist at best and soulless cunt at worst.” She cried, I
was so sick of those crocodile tears, and gave me some excuse about how she
takes out her unhappiness at me because she doesn’t know what to do with her
life. What a prize she was! Still, I could finally cut that bitch out of my
life, and regain the happiness she had taken.
Satan,
as I will always affectionately refer to her as, had been my girlfriend of over
three years. The first two years were pretty good, but around the third she
became depressed, and was miserable to be around. She refused to ever see a
doctor, and resigned herself to alternating between being a melancholy lump,
and a complete bitch. As we stopped having sex, and she got fatter and less
attractive, even gaining a happy trail and nipple hair (disgusting!), she kept
bringing up the topic of marriage. I believe this was akin to a man clinging to
life preserver in the middle of the ocean. I was never going to marry her nor
have kids. I hate kids, and I’m like the ocean, and you can’t tie down the
ocean.
To
complicate the mess with Satan, we were living together in an apartment. This
was easily the most miserable point in my life. I had essentially paid for
everything; I made mint selling Digimon merchandise and Dragon Ball Z toys. I
spent half on Transformers, and half moving out. It was something I had never
wanted to do anyway, but she claimed this would fix our relationship. It really
couldn’t get any worse, and I hadn’t had any positive feelings toward her in
longer than I could remember, plus I figured I’d try to live the life normal
people do.
Living together was the stuff of
bad sitcoms; she was the stereotypical fat bitchy housewife. Essentially I did
everything around the apartment; while she only got up from her ass groove on
to criticize the way I did everything. I would be cleaning, or doing dishes,
and that fat unshaven slob would waddle up to me and say “you’re doing it wrong;
this is how you do it.” I would tell her she only knew how to mindlessly browse
Facebook, watch Roseanne, and get fatter. Then I would tell her that her ass
groove was getting cold without her lard. I will never hate someone half as
much as I hate that cunt.
We had
four animals, three ferrets that I hated, and a Hitler cat named Beans. Beans
was loveable, but extremely annoying. At around 5 a.m., he would scream at me
to feed him, and the fatass next to me was incapable of taking care of herself,
so it always fell to me. Still, this was nothing compared to the ferrets. She
had convinced me to get them for her, and then promptly left all the care to
me. I felt bad for them, so I did the best I could. However, they are high maintenance
bitches. A ferret poops every four
hours, and I had three ferrets. That means each day they pooped more than a
human, and would never once make it anywhere near their litter box. They would
often shit around the apartment, and Satan refused to do any sort of cleaning.
Satan
decided one day to become a vegan, and that I would become one with her. This
was equivalent of asking a man to defy gravity every day for the rest of his
life. I had been living on a steady diet of whole milk, Dinosaur chicken
nuggets, and greasy sausage sandwiches. I tried it for a month of two, and felt
like I was dying. I had no idea what to eat other than candy and cereal. Cereal
with that shitty soy milk was akin to dousing it in bleach. At least the bleach
might have killed me; there was an element of hope there. The soy milk just
left a bad taste in my mouth. I had three cavities from this awful calcium
deprived diet, and felt like shit every waking moment. Coupled with
cohabitating with that fat cunt, life was miserable. I ended up on Prozac just
to deal with everyday life.
The
breaking point for everything was the end of December. She had been talking to
some vegan hipster, and I was fine with it. I really wanted everything to end,
but I was afraid to do it myself. At that same time, I came down with the flu
and bronchitis at the same time. All that worthless mess would do is scream at
me for being sick, and tell me to stop being lazy. I was freezing all the time,
and couldn’t eat. She used this as another reason to scream at me. It had long
been over in my mind, but this solidified my need to bring it to her empty
head.
I felt
instantly better once it was over. Sure I had to live with that miserable
human, but it was temporary. The problems were still there, but I would soon be
rid of them, it was just a matter of biding my time. Now that we weren’t dating, it was time to
get back in shape, and start doing what I wanted. I was never home during her
waking hours, usually spending long hours at the gym, and then going to mooch
food at my parents’ house. She would text me the whole time (she had no car, so
she was forced to mope around the house) and I would never respond. I know the
break up hit her hard; my brother’s mother in law was her boss. She kept
spacing out and making mistakes at work over the next few months. I however was
empowered with a new zest for life.
We both
were in the same math class, which she later failed out of due to her low
intelligence, and we went shopping one day after school. She remarked about
going to Bed Bath and Beyond, and trying to be civil I said fine. She kept
asking me for opinions, and fed up I said “I’m never going to see you again,
and couldn’t care less about your room décor. Fuck you.” She moved out later
that day. It was lonely living in that apartment for the two weeks before I
moved back in with my parents, as she took the cat, but all I had to do was
make it through this and the sweet man-child lifestyle was mine!
I ended
up cleaning the entire apartment myself, when I asked if she would help, she
replied “all you have to do is dishes, God why are you so useless?” If she had
been standing a few feet closer, I would have probably thrown her through the
fucking wall. My brother came up to help
me move, and it was of course one of the coldest days of the year. It took a
good two hours trying to get my couch from one end of the house to the next,
due to my dad being a hoarder. That’s covered in my other novel, WFD: World
Funniest Dad, though there will inevitably be some cross over. It took me quite some time to set up all my
toys, books, and posters, but I was finally back where I started. There was nothing I wanted more.
I only
had a few dealings with Satan afterwards; we ended up paying rent on the
apartment til May, which solidified my hatred for her. I got back $300 from my
$900 security deposit due to those fucking ferrets destroying everything. Satan
didn’t mind, I fronted the entire deposit. The other dealing involved her
website, a shitty half assed blog that she thought would make her rich. As with
every other idea she had, after spending plenty of my money she abandoned the
idea after a week, after begging me to spend $400 on a camcorder, and
convincing me to pay for half a domain name. Since she had the brains and planning
abilities of a child, she opted to automatically renew it every 6 months while
signing up. Her PayPal account linked to my bank account was hit with multiple
charges totaling $200. Naturally I sent her multiple angry texts, calling her a
thief and an immature child, saying I would file for fraud or tell her mother
about it if she didn’t pay me back. Her logic was that because we were dating
when she created the site, It wasn’t a big deal that I was charged. What did I
see in this girl other than a fuck hole? Nothing I guess, the rest must have
been an illusion.
In any
case the apartment was rented out in May, and I free! The last time I saw her
in person was March, and the last dealing with her was in May via text. This is
where the story of a millennial, also known as the lost generation begins. What
follows is probably true, and I feel is an accurate description of my lazy
self-absorbed life style.
No comments:
Post a Comment