Truth Be Told

I don't know if I've ever had as helpless a feeling as I have now. To be so far away from my social circle. To be connected to social activity through this tenous little broadband link between me and the world. To be utterly unable to fulfill what I believe to be my destiny. Where I'm destined to be, who I'm destined to be with. It's disheartening. Actually, it's more than disheartening. It is eating me up.

I have no desire to fuck with time-fillers and broads I don't like. Women I think I'd dig are across the fuckin' country. My whole shit is marginalized because I'm not RIGHT THERE. I can't be taken seriously, because I'm not in their midst. So I'm left with scrapple. The bottom of the muthafuckin' barrel.

This whole thing, this gotdamn Blogger thing has effectively opened up a whole new world to me. This shit is fulla creeps, half asses, geniuses, dullards, no life wanna be's, goddesses, triflin' hoes, broke pimps, and me. You never know what you're gonna get until the conversation gets real.

So I go into this shit extra gangsta, 'cuz honestly I don't give a fuck. I'm speaking my mind and I'm drillin' muthafuckas every chance I get. And then people start feeling me. I'm kind of a live cat, I'm funny. But I'm here, not in the center of anything, not really close to anybody, and I start feelin' different women. Not that they would know, 'cuz I'm flirting with everybody. So I make my approach to one of them. That bitch is unstable. Lesson One: Bitches be unstable. So I step to another one. That broad is gunshy because of my blog persona. Lesson Two: Don't be such an asshole on your blog. The third one is fantastic. I can't help it. I'm amazed that I feel this way. I let it be known. Big fuckin' mistake. She thinks I'm full of shit and there is no way she's giving me any run. Or else she's just not feeling me. I'm not her type or I'm not as cool as she thought I'd be. Whatever. But that shit is the one that hurts my feelings, I mean actually hurt my feelings. I blow off most everything that happens to me emotionally, because most of that shit is infantile, but my feelings are really hurt. You mean I can't get any play? At all? Damn, it sucks to be me.

So anyway this shit has led me to believe that I'm really not built for this shit. I'm not made for this blogging shit. I still have an artistic sensibility. I really like that you like what I write. It validates me. I think I'm funny. I think I'm observant. And so do you. I think you're attractive and funny. Can we talk? We can't? Why not? Oh. O.K.

And that's that.