Of course, while the full-throttle escapades of a porn star would garner absolutely no objections on my behalf, we all here at the Plague know that I'm never this lucky, and that the aforementioned "man in me" no doubt references the legendary "insensitive cock" trait that so many of you have come to know and adore/despise. As I'm sure many of also know well, this "insensitive cock" feature is simply the defensive mechanism through which I channel myself in my most productive mode of operation... mainly, anger. This impermeable defense, of course, comes at the cost of dulling out not only the pains that comes with hearing the vegetarian whines of "sensitive" motherfuckers frequently lambasted on this site, but consequently and unfortunately, also my ability to pick up the subtler outcries of vegetarians that I happen to actually care about.
This of course, brings me to the main topic of today's discussion - "I hate sensitive, passive people." Well, perhaps a more universally sensitive (pfft... HAH!) way of putting it would be to say "sensitive, passive people and I simply induce unhealthy cyclical bouts of homicidal rage and depression in all parties involved."
Needless to say, I shall spare you the details of my long and arduous week, in which it seems my lifetime of blasphemous statements have finally caught up with me, and God's pooping in my pudding cups and passing it off for chocolate, and I've got no milk to wash it down. I will merely sum it up by saying "there have been few weeks which have been so comprehensive and thorough in ensuring that each and every person, academic department, restroom, cell phone carrier service, and computer that even remotely touches my life has had a chance to cause me undue hemorrhoidal irritation." However, while the week itself has been legendary, the real upshot of all this rage is the plain and simple idea that "sensitive people are the worst." The whole sentiment, however, is also accompanied by a good hearty ration of self-hatred and self-loathing for being so "insensitively manly" in my ways that I didn't even fucking notice a glaring problem because it was simply not explicitly stated to my stupid-ass manly face. Let's just say that a certain very important person in my life has apparently been depressed off and on for the last 6 to 8 months AND I DIDN'T EVEN FUCKING PICK UP ON IT until he finally TOLD me to my face last night.
Needless to say, after a long conversation with my friends Jack and DiSaronno over a carton week-old Indian take-out, I came upon the realization that I have become utterly, and terminally, fucking useless. To him, at least. It was then that I realized that because of my severe pride in my own jackassery, I simply no longer can properly pick up on the subtleties of unspoken emotion. How could I have missed this shit for 8 whole months? Even mindful of the fact that I have recently had my desire to be sympathetic towards him tempered by his incessant and raging addiction to the world's most inane fucking waste of time game ever (as I'm sure you can tell, I've got hangups of my own about being second to a machine), it's still very little excuse for being so completely and utterly oblivious and so unable to read my own boyfriend that I can't tell when he's depressed. Of course, the larger problem in all of this really stems from the fact that I was once able to perform this task of being able to read him better than ANYONE, and this whole issue would have been a moot point. However, somewhere along the way, I seem to have lost this ability, which, more than anything else in the world, bothers, enrages, and frustrates me to the point of triggering my already borderline alcoholism into its full onset of "Guinness for breakfast, Guinness for lunch, and a Jack in the Coke for a late night snack." Nothing, absolutely nothing, kills me to hear more than knowing that I've grown and changed for the worst. It triggers a self-loathing that can only be made more severe by the fact that he has found solace, understanding, and a sympathetic ear, and I even dare say, happiness and being cheered up, by his essential walking-fetish ex-girlfriend via IM - something that I, in my own right of being manly and unappealing (and let's face it, squat, pudgy, cruel and extremely crude), just haven't been able to do for him. Honestly, I can't say that it's helped that I can't get the smell of his shit these days when I IM him myself, while in the past I was offered an essential torrent of insight with instantaneous reaction, but nevertheless, it's made me realize just what I've become - essentially, an obnoxious man's man with breasts and a lack of penis. But perhaps more importantly - I've become something that's just not good for him. Regardless of that which he might say otherwise, I've assessed the situation and just come to the conclusion that there is simply nothing I can offer him at the moment, and no guarantee that my now-lost instinct and mind-reading ability will return in the future. And that's just not what he needs or deserves.
While admittedly a depressing thought, I've really considered this situation and concluded that really, it might just be better for him if he just found a better girl to be with. I never really disliked his ex-girlfriend at all, and if she's able to give him what he needs and deserves better than I can give him, then why the hell not just go for it and leave me alone to wallow in my own manhood (fuck distance, he's willing to drive to New York to see her, but not Random Hall anyways so I see no problem with the distance, despite what he has claimed time and again about why he won't date her). At present, I've done nothing but demand he put his fucking game away and pay some fucking attention to me, which is obviously something he resents, and it honestly kills me to think that I'm just not the number-one best fucking woman in his fucking life hands down no contest, so why bother with dating the woman who's only "so-so" and not really worth being nice to or paying attention to? As I see it, all parties lose in such a case... so why not just ditch the woman who can't really make him happy, and find someone else who will? While I won't be the one to make the decision for him, it seems as though my jackass-manhood has finally caught up with me, and I'm faced with the idea of losing someone because *gasp* I'm too insensitive. And now here we are at a crossroads I'll say I've never faced before - can this situation really do a 180, on both persons' accounts, or is this really the end?
My dear readers, I dare say you'll only ever read about relationships ending due to "insensitivity" on the woman's part in the literary feces written by me. You read it here, you read it first in The Bubonic Plague Luncheonette.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to start reading "Cosmo For Your Guy" to work on my sensitivity training.
Further bulletins as events warrant, you can be sure.
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