Piss off, you damnfool twats, with your pseudo-romantic moneymaking gestures, your slighting of commitment for the one off splash, your fuck-awful pictures of rotting personalities behind beautiful bodies, your ghastly insistence on appearances, your fuckwitted obeisance to the god of sexual attraction, whoever it may be, that idiot deity who really ought to be shot and buried in a shallow grave.
Fuck me: once, loving someone meant attaching yourself, stitching your bodies and souls together so that you made a stronger defence against the storm tides of chance and bastard time. Now, it means: is his cock better than the other guy's? Are her tits a bit saggy? How good is the pussy I'm getting? How long does the cock last? A broken heart means an empty snatch or a pair of balls like two tins of fussell's milk (copyright Viz).
No-one gives a toss, no-one cares a single fuck for the idea that two people can, or even ought to, find themselves in each other, share a mystical or inexplicable attraction that solidifies until there is no telling between the two: once it gets tough, once you stop being basically fuck-buddies and something higher or more permanent threatens the lightly stained glass of your lives; once some prick turns up in a BMW or with some fuckawful job that makes him boss all the other cunts around, that's it - the "love" is gone and the relationship is over. So what? It wasn't fun anymore, it wasn't going anywhere, you stopped satisfying me, we stopped making sense, I wasn't feeling the vibes, we just weren't right, you turned out to be someone else.
So what? Who gives an arse? We're not monogamous anyway and any attempts to prove otherwise are doomed to failure once you've seen Milf Sluts Go Nuts Vol 42, not that I have. Jeesus, she comes like a train! He can go all night and look how hard he comes! Pornstars are the modern gods, except that they're largely unspoken leaders of our aims and ideologies (although apparently Jenna Jameson declared her support for Hillary C: fucking hell if I were a Yank I wouldn't be able to vote for Mike Huckabee fast enough). We're all too ashamed to admit that porn drives our images of male and female and that anyone who doesn't match up can fuck right off. I'm not saying that I don't, or that I'm shit in bed: whatever - who gives a flying fuck anyway?
Valentine's Day? Go fuck yourself, sonny, like a whole load of us have to.
So what if I'm bitter? It's hardly a valid criticism of a lemon, now is it?
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