First and foremost, quit yer fucking crying. This is a big shout out to all the professional victims of the world.

“Boo hoo, life is hard”

“Waaagh, the world is against me”

“I’m trying really hard and nothing good happens”

You want something good to happen? Blow me. Guaranteed results. And trust me, it’s great (for me).

The only thing worse than a victim is a professional survivor. I don’t mean a real survivor, like somebody who beats cancer. I mean the kind of survivor that used to be a victim then, when they get tired of whining like a bitch, decides that they’ve made it through the roughest that life has to offer. Now they get to talk about “how much they’ve been through”, and how they’re “a fighter” or “a survivor”. You’ve made it through the exact same things that everyone else has gone through, although you think your experiences were unique and special and very, very difficult. You are very strong. I applaud you. My hero. Blow me.

Ok, now that I’m done bashing a large percentage of the population, how are the rest of you?

As Big Kev once said, I’m between a wigwam and a teepee, too tense. I’m already wound up a little tight, add to that my self-imposed celibacy, and I’m a ticking time bomb. If I don’t release the pressure valve soon, somebody is either gonna get beat down for not using a turn signal, or the next poor girl that blows me is gonna get the back of her head shot off by my army of angry Sperminators. Seriously, my time has come to cum. I have options (no, not lefty and righty), it’s just that I haven’t exercised them. One is particularly intriguing but I’m gonna keep the details to myself, at least for now. (Note: If she reads this, my “at least for now” statement almost guarantees that nothing will happen. Nobody said I didn’t like to gamble, even when it comes to having sex with a hot girl.)

I wonder if all this is why I constantly dream about guns?

Sometimes I dream about being in a gunfight. It’s a standard “hero” dream, where I am saving people from “bad guys”. Others I am simply carrying a gun, which I often wish I could do. Now, lest you think I’m some crazy, gun obsessed, paranoid, I am. No, wait, I’m not. I meant, I’m not. I suppose I just long for simpler days, like the old west, when men were men, and people who whined a lot got shot. Either that, or the loaded gun is a metaphor for my penis which I do, in fact, carry around and, as of late, is always loaded and ready to fire. I dunno. All I know is I want some ass and this waiting around being picky is starting to make me insane.

Who’s up for a gunfight?

Note the size of the gun. Overcompensate much?