dispatch!

A lot of people have been commenting on my lifestyle lately. All of them were women of course, because most men would probably live exactly like me if the large majority of males in this world were not either gay or pussies obsessed with being sensitive and caring so they can slip their little weeners into the moist birth canal of some enlightened and empowered chick. I presume the comments are somehow supposed to make me rethink my life and the condition I prefer to reside in. "You know cerebos, you have potential, but perhaps you should work on your social skills a little." Or the running comments about my bathing habits. Of course, I respect other people's opinions about roughly the same amount as I respect myself. If that amount could be graphically illustrated it would closely resemble the numeral for zero.

"Hey, if you don't like the taste of 2 week old smegma what the fuck are you doing down there in the first place?"

I tried the whole "I'm going to groom myself so I can get laid" thing once. Turns out it was a lot of work for imminent dissapointment. But at least I never delved into that lonely desperate practise of using a deodorant. Jesus Fucking Christ! I loathe deodorants. What sick sadistic motherfucker came up with that concept? Spraying yourself with the aromatic equivalent of Zyklon-B and thinking that you're special because you now smell exactly the same as the other 2 million idiots who jerked off to the same deodorant commercial as you? My biggest fear in life is being in an elevator with one of those guys who empties three cans of AXE on his naked body everyday, and I have to get to the 50th floor. Heck, when I see a guy with a funky, spikey haircut and overpriced Catterpillar shoes approach the elevator, I take the stairs. But sometimes they slither in there before you can take appropriate action. I start blaspheming immediately in the hope that the finger of God will sever the cables and send us all into a freefall towards oblivion. At least I can die with the sweet smell of shit carressing my nostrils after I crapped my pants.

And who the fuck is the target market for those deoderant commercials? Have I become that detached from society that I no longer understand the intricate workings of human relationships? If women love the smell of these deodorants so much, why haven't I heard of a new sex craze where women sniff vast amounts of Status and finger their clits? Or am I not typing the correct phrase into my search engin? The only reason I vehemently oppose incest is that there are actually women out there that enjoy the generic smell of a deodorant. And there are actually men that use it. I think our pseudo western culture have lost touch with reality completely. The truth is if you're an ugly dolt with a flatulence problem, you're not going to pick up a stick figure, bulemic princess. You would probably be best off settling for the hairy fat lady who works at the laundromat. And no amount of grooming, deodorant or sensitivity is going to change that. Only money will. Lots and lots of big fat R200 bills and the skinny bitch with the eating disorder will add protein to her diet.

But of course none of this actually has to do with the fact that I smell. The philosophy behind that is much more complex and involves having a barstool all to myself in crowded bars. I don't go out to meet nice girls who I can fuck later. I go out because I already drank all the beer in my apartment and the liquor stores are closed at night. And some has told me that I betrayed women for the bottle. Not true. No matter how hard I try I can't fit my cock in a beer bottle. And I'm not praising my dick size, I'm merely commenting on the width of the bottle neck opening.