The Hangover

blue drinking glass with water and white medicine pills

I woke up at 6:33 in the morning with a raging, pounding headache. I jumped out of bed and nearly missed making it to the toilet. All the shit that I had imbibed came back up in a rush. My stomach clenched and heaved, forcing the contents out.

My legs were shaky and it was a miracle that I was able to stand. I staggered to the sink to wash the bile from my mouth. I looked into my own bloodshot eyes as I cupped water from my hands into my mouth. A six day old corpse looked better.

I flushed the toilet before staggering back into the bedroom, the smell of vomit and last night’s, whatever, was potent. My stomach fluttered at the smell.

Goddammit, I need to quit doing this. I can’t keep doing this. Something has got to give. Enough is enough. I keep going at this rate I’m either going to overdose and die, or I’m going to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. This shit has got to stop.

Jumbled words and sentences swirl in my mind, voices screaming gibberish in the dark. It’s maddening.

“Semen retention!” “Alpha!” “Don’t lean in bro!” “Tell your son this!” “My legacy!” “I only bang 9’s and 10’s!” “Just lift!” “Keto!” “Carnivore!” “Feminism!” “Toxic masculinity!” “A real man!” “Save the west!” “In a society!” “Don’t call her immediately, wait a few days before you call her…”

Black coffee…

Cold showers…

I felt my stomach lurch and I sprinted to the bathroom, but this time I didn’t quite make it. The vomit splattered on my bare feet as it hit the floor.

Fucking guys.

Dumb assholes who don’t know anything about anything acting like they know everything about something. Fucking spergs.

You don’t really want to do anything except masturbate. It’s clear now that’s all you want to do. You want credit for something you haven’t done and probably never will. You want a participation trophy just for showing up.

You want that magic pill or that magic bullet that will magically make you… Whatever it is that you think you want to be. The problem is twofold though.

One. There is no magic bullet that will magically make you do or be anything.

Two. You don’t even know what you want. Except to jack off and waste both yours and my time.

I think you’re just mad. And possibly a little insane. You’re mad that things didn’t work out like your mom told you they would. She lied to you. That girl, that special one, that little prize on the pier lied to you too. She’s just like all the other girls. That’s what you tell yourself and what you say to me.

Newsflash: I don’t care. Tell it to someone who does. Go jerk off somewhere else, I don’t have time for your horseshit.

You have all of the information in the world right at your fingertips and yet you don’t want to do the work. Guess what? You get to burn. I realize now that you don’t really want solutions, you just want to masturbate and have someone pat you on the back.

A sheep in search of a shepherd is going to be slaughtered. Might as well be you. Better you than me. Besides, nothing has quite the taste like bitter tears. Your tears. Filling up my glass. I’ll toast your health as I down it. Better that than the pablum that you’ve been issuing from your sewage-hole called a mouth.

I’m not going to block you on social media. Oh no. That would be a trophy to you. “Did you see what that weesh guy did! He blocked me! What a sensitive asshole! LOL!”

I’ll just mute you. That way you’ll shut the fuck up.

You go on and on and on, typing your drivel on your keyboard for the other dipshits that follow you, and honestly, you remind me of my ex-wife. She wouldn’t shut the fuck up either.

A feminized man getting his fix from outrage and revenge porn, talking nonsense about saving the west and not jerking off. You sound just like the women that you hate. Oh I know, you claim you don’t hate them, and yet you do. You carry on about them like they are a scourge and how they “deserve” what they get. You’re fingering your own asshole the whole time.

I thought I disliked you, but I was wrong. Dislike is a strong word in this case. I actually pity you. I pity you because all you want to do is jerk off on your keyboard with nonsense, rationalizations, and excuses. You don’t want to do the work, you just want to be mad. So stay mad, I don’t care.

I’m going to do what I did when I did readings. I’m going to agree with you from now on and tell you what you want to hear. I’m going to bullshit you. I’m going to lie to you. I’m going to do it with a smile on my lips and a twinkle in my eye. You wanted it, you’re going to get it. After that I’m going to mute you so I don’t ever have to hear from you again. I’ll never see another word that you write again. It’s going to be such a relief.

What do you know? I’m feeling better already. The hangover from your bullshit is receding. The headache is gone and I think I can eat something and keep it down now.

I’ve got to go, I’ve got vomit to clean up. I need to take a shower and shave. Then maybe some lunch or something. After that, I’m off to get some sex.

Have a great day!

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