Why is it that you can be the cock of the block when you’re single, but celibate when you are with someone?
Why is it you seem to get the most when you’re single and playing the field, but when ‘love’ is involved it drops off exponentially?
Why is it that some guys have all the luck?
Why is it that your life is so miserable compared to everyone else’s?
Why is it that you can bust your ass day in and day out, but the guy who knows how to schmooze gets ahead faster?
I ask these things to a godless sky, shaking my fist; knowing that these questions and more will go forever unanswered. Hoping only for a little nectar to drip down to my hopelessly bottom-feeder level. Ours is not to question why, eh Horatio? Or Homer? Or Lance?
Why do I write? That is easy. If it doesn’t get out of my head, I will get nosebleeds, headaches, athletes foot, crotch rot, the shakes, and countless other maladies. If it doesn’t come out, I would simply die from keeping it in.