My ex boyfriend reminds me of you. I love it.

Maybe I am your ex.

Maybe this whole blog is my way of getting your attention, of sending you an invitation and a warning. It could be that I’ve been sitting here for years, soaking in the adoration of random girls and spinning tall tales while waiting for you to find me. Waiting for you to find me and apologize for being so fucking useless inside. Waiting for you to show me how much you regret not being good enough.

Maybe you should think about that.

Okay, baby?

Foreseeing the future and living in it are two different things.

I dreamed about a lot of stuff as a kid. Back in the early ‘80s, when I sold my beloved BMX bike to buy my first computer, I dreamed of a day when everyone would have such devices in their homes. I dreamed of random people actually getting my X-Men references, and of girls who wouldn’t walk away if you said you loved video games. And I dreamed of modem networks that would let people all over the world communicate asynchronously about anything that interested them, including the X-Men, girls, and video games.

Through unrelenting, geeky advocacy and hard work, those dreams all came true; the 21st century is basically a bespoke era, designed by me and my ilk to suit our priorities. We won. I got everything I wanted and more.

Ah, that sticky, messy, unfortunate “more”.

Everyone has a computer in their pocket, but Google and Facebook are actively trying to convince them that algorithmic search results and the half-baked opinions of someone’s belligerent uncle or freshman niece are useful substitutes for knowledge. Half the TV shows and movies made today begin with a MARVEL title card –turning the 35 cent passion of my childhood into mainstream fare– but the underlying comic books are reduced to glossy, deeply cynical cash-grabs that prey on the obsessive-compulsive inclinations of middle-aged malcontents. We finally figured out how to make games interesting enough to catch a woman’s attention, but then immediately started looking for ways to keep those bitches from getting any of their touchy-feely girl-goo all over our fantasy fiefdoms. And the networked, nerdy Algonquin round tables I sought? Well, Donald Trump joined Twitter.

Be careful when you dream, children. The universe is often listening, and has ideas of its own.

TFW you see something really stupid on Tumblr that you would normally ignore, but a lot of people are lavishing praise on it and it seems like you ought to add a critical male voice to break up the misplaced harmony, but you can never fucking tell who’s a Colbert-esque pseudo-misogynist and who’s actually a bipedal, ambulatory bag of dicks, so you just kind of grind your jaw and move on.

Also, TFW you know you’ve probably given other people that feeling.

My Fetishes?

I like chicks who feminize all the significant inanimate objects in their worlds. Their cars are girls, their computers are girls, their phones are girls; whether it’s pink and covered in flowers or jet black as the empty eye sockets of Death, if a thing exists, it’s a “she”.

Because with women like that, all you have to do is wait a while until one of those objects breaks down or disappoints her; then you’ll hear it.

“What the hell? You stupid, stupid bitch!”

“Don’t you die on me while I’m using you! Fucking cunt!”

“Please, just start. I need this. I’ll be good to you from now on, I promise… OH, YOU WORTHLESS WHORE!”

It’s like porn to me.

how do i go about getting guys to be mean to me too many i connect with try to be nice

That, m’dear, is what ya call a “high-class problem”. But life sucks even for the privileged, so the question is worth considering.

I’m repeating myself here, but first, focus your attention on men who are demonstrably smarter than you. It’s not that stupid guys can’t get you off; it’s just that the smarter ones have more varied and less lethal ways to take you on the ride for which you yearn.

Second, remember that it’s a cunt’s job to set the tone of her own degradation. Get naked —physically and emotionally— and give the men you admire a guided tour of your insecurities. Dangle your frayed self-esteem before them and show them how much you deserve to unravel; you can’t expect a decent man to dig down to your level if you don’t show him where you keep the shovels.