So, you want a bad man. A leather-wearing, bike-riding, bearded tough guy, but you’ll end up marrying a sad man, a whining, muttering, murmuring, brooding sod. And he’ll become a mad man, a nude-dancing, beer belly flaunting, farting, raving, raging lunatic. From the frying pan to the furnace with no escape, all because you wanted a rad man, an uber-cool, slick-boot wearing, cigar-smoking, rock music listening, popular ‘dude.’
You should know by now that when want is desperate, fate delivers the ultimate anti-climax. He, being the strongman, he is, pushes you into a corner from which there’s no escaping the knife aimed for the jugular. You don’t get what you want or what you need. So, there’s no one left for you but the repulsive, unclad man, walking around with his tiny schlong, sniffing your thong, showing off his dirty chest hair, yellowed teeth and pornstache.
He’s the OG, the man who’d rather die than tap out in a cage fight. Eight-pack flaunting, muscle building, tall and winsome, but you’ll end up with the Original Prankster (OP) the man-child who drunk dials his ex, farts on your palm and then runs away, cackles and babbles like an orangutan, and kicks a football at you for fun.
So, save it, darling; save the weeping, the mourning, the bitching. You’ll never have the bad man or the rad man because you’re a pretentious little bitch acting like she’s oppressed, tormented, suppressed and troubled. So, wipe off that good girl facade and settle for a shitty life with the sad man who’ll become the unclad, mad man.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2019)