Back from mexico

I just flew in from Cabo today, and boy are my arms are tired. Anyone, anyone? I'll just throw this out there in case you were wondering: no I didn't get arrested, no I didn't bang a hooker, and yes this is a new shirt, thank you for noticing.

One thing I love about Mexico is that the Mexicans all seem to care about everything just a tad bit less as compared to us Americans. They're all so friendly and they never give a shit about the time as long as it's happy hour. And if they don't understand a word you say, they'll still smile and nod and make you feel real good about yourself. It sorta makes you reflect on the sticks up all our asses and ponder why we leave it there despite the noticeable discomfort.

I'll admit though it wasn't a wild and crazy time. I spent the larger portion of my days deep in secluded prayer, and when I wasn't worshipping God the Almighty I was driving the roads looking for impoverished children I could feed loaves of bread to.

But really, it was just a good old time. Unfortunately though, the spring breakers were no longer in town, however there were a lot of grandmas and small children lounging around the poolside, so when I wasn't busy feeling like a pervert, I was busy feeling like a douchebag for thinking granny's tan accentuated the whiteness of her dentures quite nicely.

And since I'm quite the one to take warm baths in fragrant depression and moisturizing self-hate, let me tell you about all the times I got shot down in Cabo. Granted I had no back-up because I was with my bro and his girlfriend most of the time, but regardless these are the reasons why I want to chop my face off.

So I go up to this girl at the bar who was with some friends but looking pretty bored. I flip the charm switch on and say, "Hey, you're pretty cute, let me buy you a drink". She tells me "no" with the most sober face possible, clamining she was at her limit, but remarks that her friend probably wanted one. She pointed at her friend who was unapologetically beaten by the ugly stick, but my horniness was inclining me towards the notion that tonight wouldn't be a night to descriminate. So I tell Medusa I'll buy her a drink, she says, "Okay sure. Wait no, we're about to leave".

I go back to my spot at the bar and watch the girls buy drinks for another 20 minutes. So now not only do girls not want to talk to me, they don't even want free drinks from me. You know you're a scumbag when people won't even take free shit from you, that's like saying, "No thank you, I'll take free mints and spritzes of fragrance from the cross-eyed albino guy in the bathroom, but you're just SCAARY".

Waa, I don't want to talk about my shortcomings anymore. There's plenty more where that came from, and that's why I'll never get married, never talk to a girl again, becoming a failed alcoholic author, and I'm shaving my eyebrows. Because at least with all that self-handicapping, I have an excuse for being alone and miserable. And when people ask me why I'm so alone and miserable, I can say, "I have no fucking eyebrows", and I"ll be wearing a turtle neck sweater, and the pieces would all come together.