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Rant #377
(published April 10, 2008)
by Cruz A. Fernandez

Paste this! I'm not pasting shit. I'm writing this right here right now! I'm drinking a pint of Arrogant Bastard Ale and reading Poor Mojo. I'm soused and I'm horny and I'm all by my self. I'm a poor fucking mojo looser.

Don't get me wrong, this isn't a load of crap from some fat loner alcoholic. Though, I have gained a bit of weight. I'm just a guy who can't quite get his shit together. The rant I was reading that inspired me to put this bit of dribble on to the submission page was about relationships and it got stuff moving in my pants. Well, actually it made me feel like a blathering idiot, which got stuff moving in my pants.

I mean fuck man I have been trying for over ten years to "win" the affections of the mother of my child. You see, she was my high school sweet heart. Another way of saying the chick who was willing to put out to me multiple times throughout high school. Well, high school ended. She ditched me. Of course she still boned me because I was a safe buffer throughout her "experimental days." But then she got knocked up, and married, and then he pissed her off and needed me to make her feel better so she boned me and then she took me out on Valentines Day and gave me a picture of me and her new baby and let me know she's pregnant again and chances are the kid is mine even though it could be one or two other guys' kid.

Woops!, I hope she doesn't read this, considering that four years after all this all happened, I'm still trying to hook up with her even though she left the first guy she had a kid with (me and him are now friends; his little girl is like my own), had my kid, hooked up with the drummer in the band I used to be in, andgot knocked up by him.

The thing is, though, all this is OK. We all have a fucked-up story. Sure, mine may be like a dying-for-ratings soap opera written by an alcoholic, pantsless circus performer who took the whole high school sweetheart thing a little too literally. I mean, what the fuck? I've done everything under the sun. I've been to the bar. Brought home the fat chick. Woken up in the middle of an orgy. Been kicked out of the nursing home for geriatric indiscretions. But I can't get it out of my head that the girl I'm supposed to be with is the girl who I promised, after AP English, that we'll probably drift apart. We'll probably be with other people, Hell, we (meaning she) will most likely be married to someone else. But by the time we're 30 will find ourselves drifting back to one another. That we might actually belong together. Throughout the cosmos, I told her, of all the universal possibilities, we will find one another and be together till the day we turn to dust.

Hell man, I'll be 27 not too long from now. My deadline is not too long from now. Thanks Mojo, for letting a romantic fuck like me ejaculate upon your hallowed 10101010.

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