other men say it better than...

i.

but maybe i'm not a man. masculine? sure. i haven't shaved in a day in a half, and i'm the victim of a shadow of five o'clock nature, and then some. i'm watching football on the television, and i really don't care about either team, but it's a man's sport, and it's also a man's sport to watch football. does this make me a man? i think of women solely as vehicles of sexual gratification, and i like getting my dick sucked. all of these characteristics make one a man, but for some reason, i don't feel like one.

i drank eight beers last night, and i also smoked a joint. i masturbated. i fell asleep on my couch and woke up at one o'clock this afternoon. narratives as such piece themselves together to form a synthesis of consciousness(es)--most people refer to this as life, but what i just described is hardly living. i drank the eight beers while sitting at a laptop and typing meaningless combinations of letters and numbers into cells on a spreadsheet, and i smoked the joint shortly before passing out on my couch while an episode of the simpsons i've seen dozens of times already ran its course on my twenty-inch television that i paid eighty bucks for at the big box discount retailer on the edge of town. back in my glory days, a girl and i exchanged emails while my band was on tour; she fell in love with the fact that i was out doing something with my life instead of sitting around drinking eight beers and smoking a joint before passing out on my couch with the simpsons on the tube. granted, her perception of "doing something with life" probably didn't take into consideration the fact that "doing something with life" consisted of getting redneck drunk on a nightly basis, putting cigarettes out on various parts of my body, hooking up with cute curly-haired blonde girls from fort collins, and (if the reader hasn't picked up on it already) general decadence. but hey, i was doing something with my life! [i'd footnote this if i could, but i can't, so i won't. i got back to town from tour, and the aforementioned girl and i went on a date. we held hands and went to a park and did some other mushy stuff, but maybe i came on too strong or something? for we never saw each other again. who cares? she lent me the perks of being a wallflower, which i guess is a favorite book of popular girls, and popular she was. i guess these girls just feel a stirring in their soul for the "shy person," and they wish that they were able to associate themselves with that idea, but they can't because they have to live up to the rules that society dictates: type a drinks like a fish and makes out with three hundred guys per year and sleeps with six of them and can't find one to fall in love with because all of these guys are also type a and most likely douchebags. fuck it.]

at least i woke up this morning without a hangover. except i didn't even wake up this morning--it was 1:07 past noon. at least i have that going for me, nowadays that i don't have any type a girls thinking that i'm "doing something with life." you know, i'd do something with my life, but it would mean giving up drinking eight beers by myself and smoking a joint before passing out on my couch. and i don't think i'm ready to do that.