Wimmin, I don't waste my time no more on 'em...

I am not the perfect man. I freely admit it. I think women today want WAY too much for what they offer us guys. I just don't care to try to jump through that hoop anymore. Hercules himself couldn't deal with the modern American woman, and he was the offspring of the Gods...

Looking back, I've had so many hot babes in my life, no wait, that must be someone else's life I'm seeing. Seriously, I'm just a regular guy, not very handsome, not very rich, not too talented,  so it's always been a stacked and crooked game to find a happy, well adjusted, pretty, and compatible woman to spend my time with. But for 36 of my 48 years on this planet, I have chased the ladies like a piss soaked, booze addled wino chasing a fresh bottle of Thunderbird wine rolling down the stinkin' gutter right into oncoming traffic, with amazingly similar end results.

But this last time around I thought I had won the prize, hit it big in the love lotto. My last girlfriend was a true beauty, all right, young, sexy, blond, with steel blue eyes that promised nights of wicked and kinky paradise. And she was also bipolar (two years off her meds I found out only afterwards) but she was built like a size 2 sex doll, hot and horny, and she loved to do the nasty as much as me. Unfortunately,  she had major and unsolvable issues with me, men, her life, and well, life in general. Can I pick 'em, or what?

Like always being a ticking emotional time bomb, like her and her drug addled ex boyfriend's 4 year old developmentally ravaged demon she-child, (that she screamed at constantly, yeah, that sure helped), like her love/hate affair with any illicit drug that made her stupid, insane, or hateful, and of course, her endless need to be entertained, wined and dined, and her endless bitchy mood swings. Instead of doing any housework or making any contribution to the payments on her expensive lifestyle, when bills had to be paid, she just complained she was "bored" and would run off with her friends. Or to her mama, the multi-addicted hippie freak burn out.

When she recently spent $400 of her whopping $500 two-week paycheck on "Halloween" costumes for her and her little fuck trophy, instead of helping with our bills, two days before my birthday, I snapped off, and kicked her out of my house. Good riddance...

God, why did I wait so long? Looking back I remember endless days of twisted emotional anguish trying to fulfill her non-stop cravings, that she threw at me day or night (as if I had nothing in life more important to deal with), or her complete addiction to those stupid $3.00 a pop "energy drinks", or her total inability to appreciate anything I did to help her, or gave to her (such as a new cell phone, a new laptop computer, and many other "trinkets" like $50 a shot panties, or me making all my buddies give her rides to and from her shitty little mall job when I was working, and just too busy).

She was like crack with tits, and I must of looked so fucking stupid, but, baby, I was hooked.

And of course then there was the night she decided to suddenly tell me that she had known for a "few months" that she had a "small" case of ovarian cysts that she just "couldn't bear" to get treated, and so had let flare into a major medical problem, and she was bleeding and in major pain, so off we go to the emergency room for 18 hours of nail digging, bitching, and hateful vitriol tossed at everyone that was trying to help her, including me, and all the overworked nurses, and the emergency room doctors, (which condition she subsequently would still NOT get treated, even though I had set numerous doctors appointments for her. She probably still hasn't dealt with it).

Shit, the list goes on and on. And the week before I chunked her ass out on the street she had decided she "just had to have a kitty, no, TWO kitties" and then left the little darlings with me when we split up, as she couldn't take them where she was moving to. (Of course, they needed expensive shots, and to be spayed. And I still haven't got them adopted out yet, thanks for nothing, bitch).

And through it all I just bit my lip, hung my head, and tried to convince myself how lucky I was to have a hot little sex bomb like her in my life, although a nagging little voice in my head said, sooner or later, dude, great sex or not, I was going to have to remove this little problem child from my life like a big ugly tick chewing on my short and curlies . But it got real nasty in the end. She sure didn't like reality much.

So I did it. I hated myself, felt untold guilt and shame that I just couldn't please her enough, knew I might never get a piece of ass that wonderful again, but I did it. I kicked that stunningly beautiful but hopelessly flawed wench out of my life. Took back the cell phone I provided her, boxed her shit up, and paid for a cab to send her packing. And even as I write this, she still has my name all over her myspace.com page proclaiming to the whole damned world that she still loves me. She wouldn't know what love is if it bit her on that sweet, little, succulent ass!

And the very same day, very same fucking day, (like there is a hell bitch phone service that tells these demonic drama mamas when to strike when we men are weakest), my ex-ex-girlfriend I had broken up with 18 months ago, (who was a mean drunk mortgage broker/real estate salesperson, a pretty, sexy, but deadly borderline type with multiple emotional problems as well), decided that after destroying my savings, getting me in deep dookie with every person she ever came in contact with, and generally making my life astoundingly miserable over our ten year ""relationship", she calls me and says that she "forgave me" and decided that I was, after all, the one true love of her long and miserable life. She said we were simply meant to be, that we were "soul mates" and she wanted to start all over again, fresh, and could she please move back in with me? Did I mention my skills at picking winners for girlfriends?

I told her in the subsequent 18 months that I had had to think about it, that I had come to the brilliant conclusion that we were not "soul mates" but rather "cell mates", and that I just didn't have the time, or inclination, to go through that particular nightmare experience again. I'd changed my phone number twice since we had broken up, but she always managed to find some idiot that would give her my new number, and as I write this she is calling non-stop and bugging the shit out of me, trying -still- to get back together again. (In fact, my cell phone is turned off right now because she JUST WON'T take the hint. Another new phone number, coming up. Stalkers, thy name is woman...)

PLEASE, God, sick these fiendish hell hounds on some other poor soul, I've had way too much of this kind of fun. I know, like vampires, these psycho-bitches from the depths of hades must feed, and spawn, but always, always, "why me"?

I hear all the time about women bemoaning the lack of the "right" kind of men to date, (or trick into the one way ticket to despairville for men that is the modern American marriage). Well, ladies, maybe it's because some other woman destroyed the souls of the men you cast your scorn upon, ripped their man hearts to pieces before YOU got a chance to do that fiendish deed yourself.  I'll tell you the truth, guys, this old, ugly, bitter and broken man is through playing that rigged and joyless game.

Men, listen to me and heed these words of warning! if you are single right now, and thinking you are missing out on something, STOP, laugh, scratch your balls, fart out loud, grab a beer, and kick back and enjoy the best feeling there is. Freedom...

I hate the bullshit, I can can cook for myself, and I don't need the endless drama. When I need companionship, I've got a good dog, and if I need sex, I'll just call a hooker.