Grow a Pair
Last month, my fiancé and another couple traveled to Milwaukee to see Black Label Society. It was an awesome show made all the better because Clutch (my favorite band) and Children of Bodom were the openers. One thing I noticed was all of the pussy-whipped beta men all around who held on to their girlfriend’s hands like they were attending a live action version of Beaches instead of a metal concert. It was kind of funny looking at these tatted-up, septum pierced societal rejects being all affectionate to their fat girlfriends who have love handles that are starting to resemble wings. Really flabby wings.
I’m being overly harsh, I know. But seriously…I want to grab those guys and tell them to not do that stuff. It makes them look like a limp-dicked wieners and she is going to dump him anyway.
And that’s how Marilyn Manson fans are created. The Lord knows that we don’t need more of them.
Every now and then I get the courage to wrap my arm over the mrs’ shoulder in public or, sometimes even hold her hand. It’s hard and uncomfortable but I know she likes it so I submit – momentarily.
This comment is time to self erase in 24 hours.
Every now and then I get the courage to wrap my arm over the mrs’ shoulder in public or, sometimes even hold her hand. It’s hard and uncomfortable but I know she likes it so I submit – momentarily.
This comment is timed to self erase in 24 hours.
Goddammit! Now I’ve double the shame!
Ha! For the record, I wasn’t talking about the usual hand-holding that couples do. I was at a heavy metal concert in a large mid-western city. The guys looked like they should be on 24 hour suicide watch, except for the fact that they were being castrated by their equally freakish girlfriends. It was tough to watch.