But I can’t get laid

March 9, 2011 § Leave a comment


So I was watching some horse porn last night, and it occurred to me:  guys can convince a reasonably good-looking woman to jerk off, blow, and fuck a horse, and then take its massive stallion load about the face and tits on camera.  But I can’t get laid.

And this girl was cute! She was way cuter than any of the girls at either of the bars I went to last night in Echo Park, a supposedly “hip” neighborhood in a major American metropolis reputed to be a mecca for the most attractive women in the entire world.

But there was not a girl this cute in either of those bars, and if there had been, there would have been a million dudes shoving each other out of the way to get a second of her time.  And even if there weren’t those dudes, I would still be too chickenshit to talk to this girl.  And she would certainly not come up and talk to me. Or even if we had got to talking, I would have had to play it perfectly, not fuck up at all, not not be entertaining and cool, even for one second.  Not fuck up in any way.  Or else the conversation would just fall off, because as a guy it is one hundred per cent your responsibility to hold it up.

Or you would get the phone number and she wouldn’t return your call, because you had fucked up the conversation in some way that you weren’t even aware of.  Or you would go out, and ask her out on a second date and she would say yes, but then you would text her on date day to confirm and she would send back a vague text about a previously forgotten “prior engagement,” without proposing a different night for the date, meaning, not only was she going to flake, but she didn’t even want to flake in advance.  She was playing a game of flake chicken with you where winning would be you not texting the time and place of the date in the first place so she wouldn’t have to even bother to send you a text back with this transparent non-excuse.  And if you even got down the road that far it means she showed up at the bar, you talked to her at all, you talked to her long enough to get her number, and she, one of three or less attractive women in the entire bar packed wall-to-wall with dudes who are better looking and more confident than you- she does not have a boyfriend.  Of course, none of this is ever true.  She is never there, you never talk, and she always has a boyfriend.

But somewhere on this planet there is a cute girl in her twenties who can be talked into publicly fucking a horse!  And three Japanese chicks who will mouth-swap the grossly veiny sausage-cocks of a couple Boston terriers, and somehow read the dogs’ body language well enough that they know exactly when to take their mouth off the dog dick and let the beast blow all over their face.  Maybe the first drop goes off in their mouth and they just scramble, I don’t know.  But still.  That horse, those Boston terriers, they have an easier time getting hot women than me. An infinitely easier time. Because the likelihood that  I will meet an attractive, available, interesting girl who is tolerant enough to let me fuck up once or twice by displaying maybe a millisecond of insecurity or flubbing one joke or making some crack about some ethnic group that she turns out to be weirdly sensitive about– the likelihood of meeting one of them in my travels is exactly zero.

So: girls will suck off and fuck a horse on camera, and take its load over their face and tits, but I can’t get laid.

Girls will blow dog cock, in a group setting, each one sucking multiple dog dicks and taking dog sperm all over their face, but I can’t get laid.

Serial killers get marriage proposals in prison, but I can’t get laid.

NuShawn Williams managed to impregnate like fifteen girls and give like 80 of them AIDS by promising to keep them in Hilfigers when he met them at the gas station, but I can’t get laid.

Guys that just happen to live near chicks and have no job, just by virtue of being around the pussy during normal business hours when hot chicks are typically not working- those guys get laid.  I, toiling in my office to lay down my future child’s college fund, can’t get laid.

The guy who wrings out the dish rag at the (REDACTED local bar) can get laid with my hot neighbor, even though he’s married and won’t leave his wife, and she found him naked in bed with yet another chick when she went to bring him coffee.  But I can’t get laid.

I mean: what the fuck.

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