Gut Rumbles
 

April 13, 2008

Perspectives

Originally published August 10, 2003

When I got my bionic implant, my mama asked me why in the hell I wanted to do such a thing. She said, "Robbie (she still calls me 'Robbie'), after the troubles you've been through, I'm suprised that you ever want to even TALK to another woman again."

Yeah, I've been shat upon and spat upon and dragged through the courts like a criminal. Wimmen have cost me a lot of money, a lot of property and broken my heart more than once. But I love them just the same. I couldn't explain it to my mama. Hell, I can't explain it to ME.

I don't believe that I display obsessive misogyny. I believe that wimmen are an alien race that I will never understand, but I fear them more than I hate them. I hate specific ones, but I don't hate the entire breed. I like pussy too much to do that.

Some wimmen hate me back. That's okay. I don't get along with everybody.

But some wimmen also believe that I am charming, humorous, outgoing and fun to be around. They like my cooking and the way I sing when I play guitar. They read this blog, too.

Wimmen piss me off with some of the shit they pull, but they smell good, feel soft and are just so DIFFERENT that I am hopelessly intrigued by them. I'll never get over the sense of wonder that they give me. They scare me to death, but I think that's part of the fascination. Me=moth, Wimmen=flame. Those hormone-riddled bags of mostly water sure can make you feel good sometimes.

They can be the most underhanded, heartless, two-timing, blood-sucking, cat-nasty bitches in the world. They also can make you thrill to get home from work as quickly as you can to be with them.

I've spent almost two years of my life trying to recover from the crotch-kick I got from the last woman I loved. In most things, I believe in the "once burnt, twice learnt" school of philosophy. Don't do that again. But I violate that rule when it comes to wimmen. I am not built to be a lonely bachelor. I need a woman in my life the way I need air to breathe.

As a result, I probably have the most famous Roscoe in the Blogosphere. I may not find a woman, but my dick damn sure got some publicity.

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