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I could have gotten laid tonight.

But did I? Of course not. And why? Because she’s engaged, and I’m a nice guy, and nice guys really do finish last. If you’re 12 years old and you’re reading this, you give that shit up right now. Women are not your friends. They don’t even particularly like you. What they want to do with you, I have no idea. But get the fuck out while you still can.

Why do we, as men, give them this power over us? Is it sex? In the name of all that we call a civilization, I hope not. I think that the truth is that we’re all bitterly, desperately afraid of being alone. I think that we reach out for anyone and anything we can make a connection with, even for the briefest of moments, because we feel that those moments are all that we have.

Well, that’s bullshit too. You really think that if we wanted to, really wanted to, we wouldn’t have cured death by now? Of course not. It’s Jesus and Buddha and the Boogeyman telling us we have to die. Well, fuck them. I say we control our own physiology, our own humanity, our own destiny. I reject the basis of your entire society: the assumption that I have to tolerate your crap because something better waits for me in another life. I sure as hell know that this one is nothing special and fuck you if you think there’s anything else waiting for us out there; it’s you and me and the bottle makes three tonight, baby.

That’s all we’ve got.

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