I’ll Never Meet My Future Wife

From Savage Spear of the Unicorn

At the beach. Looking for the place I took Lilly. Where I carried her down the cliffs on our first date. She’d broken her leg eating it on a bicycle. Had a cast on. I helped her to her car after AA, where I’d stared at her two years. Lifted her crutches into the back of her Prius. Would you uh… do you want to uh… go to the beach with me this weekend and she said YEAH right away like she’d been waiting. After taking fastidious care to never look at me. Never sit near me. Only glance at me sideways, like someone told her I’d written about wanting to come back as a tapeworm and live in her asshole. I’m sorry but it’s true.

So I took her to the steepest cliff in Malibu and carried her all the way down it. My whole core rigid. This was what my squats were for. Deadlifts making the Taleb face. Her ungodly Thai temple tits, her ungodly bikini body forced against me skin on skin at 12% body fat. An old black lady we walked by said that’s love. How long ya’ll been married. 8 years 3 kids ma’am. That’s love.

Went for the makeout with the gulls crying and the waves hissing up and up and it was like she’d been waiting. Like every woman who’s lived in New York, she had herpes. I didn’t care. But she went on a trip. I never saw her again.

**

I’ll never meet my future wife. So what. Prepare for this. Prepare to die alone. Could you be like the 65 year old Aussie bogans in Pattaya with the snow white crew cut plus rat tail. Tattoos of… I don’t know what, beer labels, with the 6.5/10 32 year old Thai hooker wife. Absolutely. Absolutely I could do this. If she spoke English and read books instead of watching 60 IQ Thai sitcoms with Three Stooges sound effects–

Fuck, American women don’t read books. I can’t date a retarded woman. I can’t date a normal woman, I’m on Hinge, it’s a Pottery Barn catalog of middle age adjacent professional Jews with their dogs. Their dream date is take me to Bali. Are you fucking kidding me bitch– I’d rather swim in Bali with a cobblestone around my neck than take a white woman there. Picture her yelling some feminist talking point at a Muslim market stall attendant who’s crushed 10 human heads with an SKS stock. Poaches Komodo dragons with bare hands as a side gig. Kissinger era armaments buried in his yard, in a place where there’s no law against backhanding your wife. Making her T shirt price dispute my problem. Omigod he’s scaring me, are you gonna do something–

God takes care of everything except me. God created light. He could not create my girlfriend. As soon as I ejaculate I’m the guy that used to get pussy. Well Tacos it’s your own fault– yeah no shit. Doesn’t matter. I want to be romantically loved. God please help me not ask you for selfish things. God please give me money and sex.

**

It’s 153 degrees and I’ll never, ever have a girlfriend. Met a girl with big tits at the barbecue. Amy. Hot enough to date but maybe just ugly enough to date me. She does (REDACTED), she’s a (REDACTED), she has the exact day job as me in the exact industry and she also writes plays. I’m writing my Gotterdammerung, she said. She knows me. She’s heard my stories at readings. Likes them, I’m a good writer, and she has big, big tits. Let’s go in the pool I say and she says I can’t swim. I could teach her. Press her to my 12% body fat rippling inguinal crease while she squirms against me scared in the cold water and therefore has to love me. Like Lilly had to love me. Old herpes cunt Lilly as I carried her down the cliffs at Point Dume on our first date and an old black lady from 227 or some other Sherman Hemsley sitcom said that’s love. And it was, for a minute. My God I’m meeting a woman. Could it be. She says something about her husband.

Lilly has herpes and Amy’s married and Lily one L is autistic and none of them like me anyway. Angela fucked another guy when she was here and Chloe’s dead and Nikki’s crazy and Annie’s crazier and fucking Ling Ling rejected me to keep fucking a married guy she works with. When will I quit my job for some horseshit where I meet girls. My books make me 20 grand. Could I get a minimum wage job where I can fuck instead of waking up at six. What if I’m just too ugly. What about Southeast Asia, people say. As if I wasn’t trying. Past a point I can’t talk to those girls about anything but taking the condom off.

I’m fucking good on paper I swear. Six figure income (doesn’t matter) six foot one (matters slightly) nice place (doesn’t matter) famous (to Nazis) ripped (matters for LMR but you have to get them in the house first). My cock longer than an iPhone. Kind to animals.

Look man, don’t say you’re desperate. The women will hear. Women: I’m already married, Two wives, I choke them. Better stay away. Better not come over and not even fuck me just touch my back please for five minutes, maybe with your top off…

The problem not drinking: you’re never disinhibited. Never believe you could be great, or just OK. And to have something you can’t want it. Or it has to be meant to be. Will I just fuck whores forever.