I don't know who wrote this, nor do I care. It's fucking awesome and deserves to be spread all over the Interwebz.
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I don't care.
I don't contribute.
My shoulders are non-absorbent, so crying on them is futile. Your tears mean nothing to me anymore. I'm looking at you with an expression-less face.
You say I'm cold? Your ridiculous pop-psych and empowerment bullshit is completely irrelevant to my life.
So
tell me. What exactly do you bring to my table? Tits? Ass? An
occasional begrudgeoned birthday BJ? Home-cooked meals? A capable
long-term mom raising our children? Financial responsibility? A pleasant
attitude and demeanor?
Serious. Do you bring anything of value for men to my table that I can't get elsewhere for less hassle? Anything. Sell it to me. I'm all ears with checkbook, ring, and pen-in-hand. It's open discussion. Let's talk. Hmm.
Ok.
Why
should I pay your inflated premium when I can pump/dump some random
chick for free? Men didn’t write the revised Team Vagina rulebook.
Acceptance of these “relationshit” scenarios speaks volumes to your
human character and lack thereof.
So,
there's no need to suit up in the dented, battle-scarred White Knight
armor anymore. The charger is long since put out to pasture, the lance
broken in two and discarded, the "noble battle-standard" blood-stained
and moth-eaten.
I've
been in the ruins of the castle... Watched the creeping vines take
everything and crush it into rubble, seen the parapets collapse onto
themselves time and time again. The fantasyland you speak of is no more,
and you're no princess... of that I am absolute certain.
Thus
I will not "man up" and play the cuckold for the child of some arrogant
ass who mounted you and left after he planted his seed inside you. I
won't forgive you for betraying or attempting to betray my trust. Once
you step out of this threshold there is no going back. No mulligan nor
do-over will be offered playing your teary-eyed games.
You
will take NOTHING from me. You will offer what you can, and if it is
found acceptable I may accept it. That said, most of your kind have
nothing of value to offer anyways. Of the few who do show some promise, I
*might* partake in carnal endeavors, but there will be no tying bonds
established, nor any loyalty shown. I shall play by your rules in that matter. And like a bus, there’s always another one coming along every few minutes.
You
say you are fallen angels. I say you are imps, pigs, and slovenly
beasts. Your kind was once capable of being spell-binding, almost
ethereal with charm, soft wit, grace, beauty, and submissive mastery of
their femininity. Now, you all smugly waddle into view with the swagger
of a drunken over-tatted whore with charm befitting a mangy, hydrophobic
cur.
Vipers, one and all.
"Ladies"...I
am initiating Total Bastard Mode, and you either like that (and some of
you undoubtedly will... ) or you take your stench elsewhere while I
freely breathe freedom air.
