Bitter, Lonely, Loser’s Apology

We can tell it comes straight from the heart.

Bitter, Lonely, Loser says: “It has been brought to my attention that my last post was offensive. Offensive and overtly sexist. I’m thinking maybe that’s why I only got 3 responses.

It seems we have gotten off on the wrong foot, cheeto-eating craigslist weirdos. So stop fingering that bed sore, put down your DNA soaked copy of New Moon, and mute 16 and Pregnant, because it is about time that I apologize to you.

It was never my intention to upset you with my ad. It is none of my business, nor concern, how retarded you are. And honestly, I didn’t know you could read. . .

I want you to understand something. Beneath my asshole-ish exterior I’m actually a sweet and sensitive guy. I’m like a teddy bear, trapped inside of a real bear. A half digested dime store Beanie Baby, being forced through the intestinal tract of a rabid, teddy bear murdering machine. But the real bear, the teddy murdering machine, it only ate the stuffed bear to keep it safe. To protect it.
Which doesn’t make any sense, because ultimately the real bear has doomed its meek counterpart to become a pile of bear shit. And that is either where the metaphor goes to hell, or where it all comes together. I’ll leave that judgment up to you.

Here’s the thing, last night I was thinking about how most pretty girls are stupider than all fuck. And I thought, maybe I shouldn’t rule them out just because they are dumb. Maybe I should give them a chance. Perhaps I too could turn my brain off, turn on someone else’s tv, and watch actors dressed as drill sergeants scream at fat people for a half hour. Or have an in-depth conversation about every boil Angelina Jolie has ever had on her ass. It could be alright, so long as I had some beautiful retard sitting on my lap the whole time.

Right? Right? Maybe.

Then I realized, oh fuck, I just screwed my chances of that with my craigslist post.

‘I should apologize. Get back in the good graces of the retard bitch demographic’.

But then I thought about the sex and I decided I just couldn’t do it. It would be like fucking a corpse. Or at the very least a coma patient. And if I couldn’t fuck my beautiful retard, what good would she be?

None.

Send me an email, I love you already.

-Frank Black”

He meant every word of it.   



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