I just realized I'm all alone in this cruel world.

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No wife... No kids...

The fucks the point of all this?

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You wake up, look in the mirror, head ringing because you thought it was a good idea to switch to patron after all the wild turkey last night
you see some grey hairs starting to pop up, "fuck, I was just 25 the other day", you think
you realize that everyday your body is deteriorating, everyday you're 24 hours closer to death.

These thoughts wouldn't be so painful if there was a smiling brunette 7 with a nice body waking up next to you every morning, playing with your chest hair, as you talk about taking your two sons to the park later and getting some icecream, a "family day", she calls it.

But that's just your imagination acting up again.
You chug some water and contemplate having a few beers to make the hangover less painful.
You know you can't do that though, because then it becomes a bender and you're blacked out posting non-sensical threads in off-topic by 3 PM, the ribs given by the dutch make the loneliness a little less painful.

But it's the same existential dread everyday upon waking up, no amount of money, frivolous sex, jew entertainment, sitting in silence, will fix the soul crushing loneliness of torquie's existence.
You scroll through the instagram stories of your highschool peers, some of them were fucking losers, but there they are, holding hands with their girlfriends, out to brunch, on the beach, on the boat... they're happy.
you ask yourself, "why couldn't I just have been a normal fag" as you take another swig of makers mark....
 
G

guest

Guest
You wake up, look in the mirror, head ringing because you thought it was a good idea to switch to patron after all the wild turkey last night
you see some grey hairs starting to pop up, "fuck, I was just 25 the other day", you think
you realize that everyday your body is deteriorating, everyday you're 24 hours closer to death.

These thoughts wouldn't be so painful if there was a smiling brunette 7 with a nice body waking up next to you every morning, playing with your chest hair, as you talk about taking your two sons to the park later and getting some icecream, a "family day", she calls it.

But that's just your imagination acting up again.
You chug some water and contemplate having a few beers to make the hangover less painful.
You know you can't do that though, because then it becomes a bender and you're blacked out posting non-sensical threads in off-topic by 3 PM, the ribs given by the dutch make the loneliness a little less painful.

But it's the same existential dread everyday upon waking up, no amount of money, frivolous sex, jew entertainment, sitting in silence, will fix the soul crushing loneliness of torquie's existence.
You scroll through the instagram stories of your highschool peers, some of them were fucking losers, but there they are, holding hands with their girlfriends, out to brunch, on the beach, on the boat... they're happy.
you ask yourself, "why couldn't I just have been a normal fag" as you take another swig of makers mark....

I blame Anthony Cumia for all of this. I grew up listening to O&A and thinking it'd be so cool to have his lifestyle when I was older. But that didn't work out for him at all. Even during the Dani era I thought it was cool and funny that he spent his days drinking and biting his girlfriend.

You there, small wyzz. What day is this? 2023? Maybe there's still time...
 
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