Here Come The Mighty

Right. Barbecues are fun. They are more fun when the host lives on a golf course.
Where do we go from here? Preordainment. Preloaded. Postbelieved. Monday morning quarterbacked.
I've been asked recently to write about someone specific. Write about specific happenings and the feelings felt. I am sorry I can't. It doesn't work that way. Maybe I gave the impression that when I write about "her" that there is an actual person or persons identified in my gullet as "her." Sadly, there is not. I just sort of write. I don't know who it's about. I don't ask questions.
I could write about real women I have dated. It wouldn't be the same. You wouldn't want to read it. You wouldn't like it.
I remember how she was constantly cheating on me. That was nice. I remember how she was to high to remember my birthday. Poetic. I fell more in love when you ordered porn and rode me while making me watch. Spiritual. I knew you were God incarnate when you slept through my college graduation because you hadn't slept in the prior four days. Magic. You spent all your money on meth at Christmas, resulting in us receiving a miscarriage. Magnetism. I want her never to take off her cowboy hat while we fuck. Stripper. Thank you for living, I met your sister, the best looking woman I have ever seen in real life. Divination. She wanted to move to a whole new continent for college. Timing. It wasn't my age but my job as to why she wouln't introduce me to her parents. Bewitching. She attacked me with a knife, she attacked me with words and she attacked me with curable V.D. Enchantment. She believed that aliens were our scientific creators and that I was joining the anti-christ. Logic.
These are the women I've dated in real life. Sorry. I can't do it for you as it is impossible. I just make this shit up. I'm like Eminem, only more sappy and less urban. I'm like one guy sitting at his computer wondering why he might die in order to preserve the behavior subjected to himself. I'm like one man who needs his student loans paid off. I'm like one guy who hates traffic but loves to drive. I'm like one man who doesn't understand the female in Savior. I'm like one guy who listens to the party next door and, from his window, watches the women stumble to their cars and drive off to meet Pete because they need some dick. I'm just one man.