How did I end up here on the end of a pier stuffing rocks into my pockets? Well. . . desperation reshapes your life in ways you could have never imagined.
A week ago I thought I was going to to be styling forever. I was living high, real high. I was wrestling killer hamsters on the boardwalk for tips (which did not even cover my emergency room bills, but it sure as hell beat my old job, flipping soy burgers for whiny, asexual, vaguely artistic do nothings at The BloodyTofu). I was living the dream, as they say. I was a real go getter back then, sure... out there chasing the buck, training for hamster wrestling, all the normals that a big time player such as myself indulges in while the rest of you slave away at movie starring and trading and blowing rich old uncles and aunts and other 'laborish' travesties.
I was envied, for sure. Who wouldn't want to win every goddamn wrestling match he ever entered? Oh, sure, sometimes it looked like I got the worse of it, but I just withheld their food for a few days and then when they were weakened, I set myself up for a rematch. You never want to enter a match with a trained hamster at its full powers, by dog, no....
Then it happened... I was on the boardwalk one fateful morning taking the hamsters out and oiling them up for maximum muscle definition, when I first looked into her eyes.... I fell hard. Real hard. How was I supposed to wrestle that kissable little whisker twitcher? She had me and she knew it, started swishing around her furry little fanny like the hussy she is. Oh, I could sense she was bad... I mean, I wondered why she needed all my credit cards, but how was I to know she had been dreaming of an Amazon vacation?
Yea, the old story played out again. . . she reached those tiny nails into my chest, tore through my tender flesh and ripped out my heart without so much as a whimper of emphathy. One day she was there, ordering me around and making me buy more cheese than one man should, then the next her cage was empty. I looked everywhere in there for her, searched the small cage for hours and hours and hours... And I cried, sure I cried.... oh, how I cried!!! I've done practically nothing else since she left me, like five minutes ago.
All I have to remember her by are three dried poop pellets -- I'm going to have them put on a gold chain -- something classy, like she was.
What??? Uh, no... I didn't plan on jumping. I just find stuffing my pockets with rocks on the end of a pier is a good way to get people to listen to me. Don't you want to see my pictures of her? She's wearing a bikini that leaves nothing to the imagination. Hey, get back here!! Okay, just keep going... I'm used to this kind of cruelty, to the suffering... dammit, I have wrestled the worst of the hamster, and now I fear nothing... except females of various species that it is no longer legal for me to list (due to the whole judgement about me not promoting man vegetible love/man-rodent love/or man sock love until I am off probation for vegetible molestation -- a totally trumped up charge by an undercover squash - she waited to bust me until she had completly had her way with me, and you can bet that is entrapment, no matter what that damn judge said!!!).
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