Retiring From Dating

I am officially retiring from dating (*Steps up to the microphone). Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth. It’s with great pleasure and regret that I must leave this great game called dating. We had a good run. Didn’t we? There was that girl with the dead tooth and scoliosis hump, or that really hot girl with the jungle cat tattoo on her left boob that molested me in a Denny’s parking lot. Maybe that one wasn’t so bad. I’ve been on good dates that went awful, and awful dates that apparently went well. Also, I may or may not have gone on 3 or 4 dates with what turned out to be a Japanese business man. I miss you, Kayato. The point is, I’m through with it all, and am ready to become the crazy cat lady I was meant to be. Women, you guys suck. I mean that figuratively and literally. You don’t want a sweet and funny guy, so stop saying it. I would respect you a lot more if you came out and said that you wanted a rich guy that’s hung like Lurch. There’s nothing wrong with wanting that. If you really wanted a sweet and funny guy, I wouldn’t have 13 whores locked in my laundry room while I cry tirelessly into my chicken fried rice while simultaneously mouthing the words to P.S. I Love You. Look, it’s my cross to bear. I’ve purchased an old run down home from a nice Turkish man that is already infested with cats. They’re led by a particularly large Savannah Cat named Glen. I figure I’ll seamlessly slide in and start battling the department of health. Voila! I’m crazy cat lady. Rest assured that I won’t be bitter for long. I just ate an ungodly amount of mescaline and bought $13,000 worth of whiskey. If you need me, I’ll be on cloud nine (cat infested shithole) writing my series of pornographic literature. Peace be with you.