Hot Chicks Who Won’t Let Me Fuck You: Dismissed. I Can’t Dismiss Myself, Now Can I?

Dear Hot Chicks Who Won’t Let Me Fuck You -
Quit bumming me out and fuck me already! Or at least let me take your top off and try getting to third base before stopping the “makeout sesh” with some bullshit about being “too drunk” or “feeling generally uncomfortable”. That would be fine, too, for now. Am I so immediately unappealing that you won’t humor me with at least that? It’s not like you’ll get a lasting disease by letting me put my grubby paws around your tits. Is my sweet and tender touch a less attractive social option for you than going home to sleep? Damn, yo!

Short ones. Tall ones. Ones with perky tits. Ones with (what look to be) big floppy ‘uns. Ones with great asses, or maybe just really nice jeans, but how would I know you won’t let me see your actual naked ass. Indie-looking ones with worn t-shirts and dolled-up ones trying to look like you’re some kind of big deal. Ones with “awesome tats” (uniquely YOU! You express yourself, girl! Did they hurt? Tell me more! Fucking strange coincidence that you’re wearing a wide open-backed top and also just happen to have all kinds of shit tattooed all over your back.). Ones who look like lesbians but aren’t, some trying to hide your wonderful huge flapjacks beneath baggy overshirts. (I see what you’re trying to hide! I want in! You look smarter than those other ones, I love your glasses. Let’s talk about stuff. Oh shit! You like bands? Me, too! Let’s talk about bands or whatever and have a couple of drinks! My treat. Doesn’t that sound like a fun night? After that we can go back to your place and make out, or whatever. No? Of course not.) A barely quantifiable fraction of a percent of the lot of you seem to be at all interested in giving me a legitimate shot at your privates. Not even a dry hump against your unmentionables. You make me sad. Water, water everywhere, etc.

Are you TRYING to make me feel poorly about myself?

Did I not offer to buy you a goddamned drink? Geezus. Was I not making eye-contact while you were rambling on and on about random gossip bullshit and going as far as asking you questions thereby opening up greater opportunity for you to prattle on and on about your super interesting whatever-the-fucks? I totally do both, so why the cold shoulders at last call, dolls?
Now, I cannot pretend like I’m goddamned Tom Cruise (“Days Of Thunder” era T.C.) and it’s probably obvious to you that I have neither an interesting nor well-paying career. Have I ever tried to mislead any of you to thinking otherwise? Doubt it. Does brutal and painful honesty get a guy anything anymore?
Apparently not.

I know you’re fucking somebody tonight and it sure as shit ain’t gonna be me. Is it that guy wearing a brimmed hat? He’ll tell all of his lightly bearded friends about porking you, you know. Each and every one of them, maybe via mass text even. Hipsters are worse than jocks in that way. 100% true. You should fuck me instead, beautiful. I have no friends and my mom will not put up with my talk of T & A during our daily phone calls. Still not interested, ey. What if I told you that I am allergic to latex?

Fuck it. I’m going to go home, fantasize about older women and jack off with a sheep skin condom on.  Do you see what you’ve done? Hot Chicks Who Won’t Fuck Me: You’re dismissed.

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