Dawn of the Dead

“We are the end of the world. Goodnight, farewell.”

She told me that she never likes the ones who call her pretty. A mistake made in earnest, a fleeting desire for something real- not playing teenage costume party with another aging woman over cheap drinks. When the fantasy is all that’s left, the impulse is to get lost in it. You want to forget that you’re an arm above the water and your legs are giving out.

You want this to be what it isn’t- it’s been too long, and you’re too far from the shore. You want to pretend that you’ve lucked out and the prom queen agreed to a Saturday night at the drive-in. That isn’t what this is, and you know it, but it’s more satisfying to spend time pretending rather than going through the motions where you say the right words at the right times like you’re punching in a Nintendo code, to skip to the end and pump rockets into Mother Brain.

Better get out before the whole thing explodes.

She doesn’t want you to think she’s pretty. That’s not part of her fantasy and her fantasy is all that matters. This is your first date, and you’re a sucker if she thinks you like her. She wants to feel your contempt. She wants to think you were busy with a girl ten years younger the night before and that she’d be lucky to suck your dick. She wants to work for it. She wants someone who hates her. This was your shot and you blew it.

This is what you get for being single over thirty-five. Meaning dies the further you get from your teenage years until you’re whisked off into the middle of the ocean to drown. Middle-aged women read books about being brave while starting inspirational instagram pages- men learn the right words to say, in the right order, to get to the end of the game.

If you’re looking for meaning in any of this, you lose.

Teenage love is only real for you to stick around long enough to make sure the girl you knocked up isn’t eaten by bears. It’s evolutionary. You’re a tool for the survival of your people, and you’re dropped like a rock when you’re too old to be useful.

You’re the walking dead- a vampire- and if you dare look for meaning you’ll be starved out of existence. Only the savvy get laid here, bucko, so get with the program or learn to go hungry.

A genuine moment of breathless eye-contact feels like a lifetime ago. Now everything has the sheen of production. You know exactly how long to wait before looking away, the right pauses to take, how to use your breath- you’re ten times sexier, but even the moments you want to come off as genuine are only performative.

Once you sell your integrity, it’s gone for good.

The rock band reunion is a misnomer. Their legacy is cemented in time- anything else is something new and different. The reunion matters less– people get old, things get muddled. You can’t capture the innocence of the original- you can only exploit it.

You take what you’ve learned about women and you use it to fuck them. That’s the game, Vlad. You’ve become a cannibal in a world where you either learn the rules of the dead or sit on your hands thinking you’re pious. Guess what, no one cares.

You had your shot at a story and you blew it. In another time, in another life, you’d have that two-car garage. Where are the kids, kung-foo soccer? She keeps her phone face down because she spends her nights reconnecting with friends from High School on Facebook. Kevin’s married now too, but she doesn’t want you to get the “wrong idea.”

You had your shot at a story and you blew it- the best you can do is latch onto another disaster, where you tell people that you found each other “later in life” and nod as they tie it together with “everything happens for a reason.” 

You’re not Scott Weiland, you’re Jeff Gutt. The real singer O.D.’d and you’re just the replacement, so shut up and sing “Plush.” Gutt knew it too and penned “Meadow” for the Pilot’s comeback record- a clever song about survivor’s guilt- where Gutt promises old, dead Scott that he’s “just killing time and having fun.” Nothing to worry about, even for a corpse- Stone Temple Pilots was Weiland’s story, Gutt’s just “holding the wheel.

Pretty like an aging Barbie doll, is what you tell her. You’ve realized your misstep and all you’ve got left is a hail mary neg, but the damage’s been done. You called her pretty and now you’re not going to fuck her. This will bother you for the rest of your life- you’ll lie in bed, jacking off to the idea. Because you couldn’t fuck her, she’s ten times hotter than any girl you’ve ever fucked, and you’ll be chasing that ghost forever.

You’re Dave Mustaine and what could have been will always matter more than what was. Nothing you have will ever compare to the ones who got away. You can’t tolerate hearing “no.” You have inexplicable confidence. You’re incredibly entitled. You think everyone should be kissing your ass.

Even if you have a sold out club with people chanting your name, you spot the one guy in the “Delicious Tacos” t-shirt and have security kick him out- Tacos is playing the hockey arena down the street, buddy. “Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven,” is what you tell yourself to justify your fragile ego. Say no to me and it’s a lifetime of masturbation, dream girl- hope you can deal with that.

She’ll never know, and she’ll never think of you again because you called her pretty instead of making her feel like dog shit.

Follow me on Twitter @ KillToParty

New to KTP? Check out my hand-picked “BEST OF” material.

Support Kill to Party through my Amazonlink

Bitcoin: 184KXoD8p9qcD8LZjFhHnHFcwCbm1oYUbz

Litecoin: LUnm1qzk7zsBPDMLqhqGDC3bWa7pWVvPSf

 

6 comments

  1. Nikolai Vladivostok · 29 Days Ago

    All true, yet the married guys are whinging even more than us. The ones I know, anyway. But they love their kids.
    Ah, Plush. I remember when it was new and cool. I think the Pilots always wanted to be a swing band but had to do grunge to sell CDs in the 90s. On Unplugged they were totes swing.
    There are places in the world where you can call a girl pretty and not have to make her feel like dog shit. I’m heading to such a country in 90 minutes. Was trying to get some sleep before the taxi came but your post distracted me.

  2. greenmantlehoyos · 28 Days Ago

    Fuck me, dude.

  3. imnobody00 · 28 Days Ago

    This is your best post. Thank you for sharing

  4. Daughter of Satan · 24 Days Ago

    The Best of Livia:

    “It’s all a big nothing. What makes you think you’re so special?”

    “In the end, you die in your own arms.”

    “OH, POOR YOU!”

    “You tell me, now you tell me when I ever did anything to any of you. I wasn’t
    always perfect but I always tried to do the best I could………Babies are
    like animals – they’re no different than dogs……If you ask me, I did a
    pretty damn good job.”‘

  5. Daughter of Satan · 6 Days Ago

    “We are the end of the world. Goodnight, farewell.”
    >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

  6. Daughter of Satan · 6 Days Ago

    “A pebble tossed from a beach can become a tsunami on the other side of the world. She is that pebble; while the Universe waits for that tidal wave to crash on The Other Side of Eternity!”

    Being the Whore of Babylon is a dirty job; but someone has to do it.

    Down the road apiece; you can tell people I once frequented thy blog…it will serve as a conversation starter; or stopper; depending on the company.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s