The Friend Zone
(Twilight Zone music: Di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di, di-di-di-di-di-di-di) You’re travelling through a vaginal dimension, a dimension not only of desire and rejection but of a sad need to be with a woman who will NEVER want you, a journey into a pathetic land whose boundaries are that of man’s inability to have a grip on reality, your next stop: The Friend Zone (buhd-oo-bud-up!)
By: Terry Allen Cummings on 05/27/12
Brought to you by: Cous’n Cumm’ns Entertainment
Featuring: The Ghost of Rod Serling
Episode 10: The Ukrainian – Part 1:
From Russia With Indifference
Ghost of Rod Serling: You walk into this relationship at your own risk, because it leads to the future. Not a future that will be, but one that might be. This is not a new vagina, it’s simply an extension of what began in vaginas past. It has patterned itself after every pussy that has ever planted the ripping imprint of a boot on the neck of man since the beginning of time. It has refinements, pleasures…and a more sophisticated approach to the destruction of a man’s psyche. But like every one of the vaginas that preceded it, it has one iron rule; logic is an enemy and truth is a menace. Any female, any entity, any ideology that fails to recognize the worth and dignity of a man’s desire to be in a one dick relationship, that woman is obsolete. A case to be filed under ‘W’ for ‘Who-er’…in The Friend Zone.
I suppose I can find a problem with anybody, and since I’ve been lucky enough in my life to have only dated hot women, each hot in their own different way of course, I’ve found that good looking women can take things for granted. For instance, most hot women don’t like being told how beautiful they are; which puts a crimp in my romantistick. I’m a wordsmith, that’s kinda what I do; and in the seven kingdoms you’d be hard pressed to find a man who’s better at pitching woo than me. The problem with that is, in order for my woo-isms to be effective; I need a woman who’s receptive to them. And 9 out of 10 hot chicks aren’t because they THINK they’ve heard it all before. Not that they’ve necessarily heard the same things, but they’re used to men trying to get in their pants by any means, and in a weird way they’ve come to expect it.
And it’s not only my words that roll off of them like piss in a rain storm, its actions as well; hot chicks EXPECT you to open doors for them. Hell, in my experience I’ve gone on dates with beautiful women who don’t even reach out their hand to open a door because they’re so used to men doing it for them. Sometimes I have half a mind to not open it, and see if they walk into it like a bird flying into a window. Pull out a chair, light their cigarette, compliment their stunning beauty when they first show up at the restaurant…it all goes unnoticed and unappreciated. So how do I stand out? I be funny, that’s how.
Since I can’t use romance, and manners don’t count for shit, the only tool I have to set me apart from the handsome but dumb football players whom most of these chicks think they deserve…is humor. Just vile, derogatory, invasive, and offensive humor; it throws them off. Of everything they’re expecting, dick jokes is not one. And they love it because someone is talking to them like an adult and not a Faberge egg with a vagina. The problem with using humor to get my foot in the door is that it has to be mixed JUST right with humility and romance. If I just make fun of people all the time, she’s gonna think I’m an asshole, which means I have to throw in some self deprecation, but not TOO much because NO woman digs a guy with low self esteem; it has to be played right so she KNOWS I’m joking. Next, I have to know when to be funny and know when to slam home a compliment. If she doesn’t see it coming, and it’s worded just right, it actually gets through the armor enough to make a dent. The formula is “Joke, Joke, self deprecation, joke, compliment!” and BOOM! She’s on the ropes. She didn’t see that coming and NOW, I’m a sexual threat. You have to know when and how to stop joking long enough to become a sexual threat, otherwise you end up in THIS dreaded place we call…The Friend Zone.
Ghost of Rod Serling: Hey Cummings, union rules asshole. Only I’M allowed to say ‘The Friend Zone’
Me: Sorry Mr. Serling
Ghost of Rod Serling: You better be prick; you know NONE of these women like you, right? Now get this over with. I’ve got drinks at the dead Kennedy Compound tonight and I hear Mary Joe Kopeckey will be there; now that Ted’s up here, this is gonna be GREAT!
Ok, nobody knows who any of those people are? Good, I’ll move on. Now much like the bad dog owner, the yoga instructor, and the stripper from Friend Zone’s past, some of the hot chicks I’ve dated have personality flaws that run so deep that the Marianas trench gets queasy looking down on them. Be it narcissism, anger issues, or addictions; my penis doesn’t give a shit HOW hot a woman is because there has to be a mixture of beauty AND humility. Unfortunately some women are so well put together, so intelligent and strong…that they don’t need me as anything other than a fucking court jester. Fuck, this game is such a pain in the ass sometimes.
All that said, I got an email from a woman last month, who told me that she’d read something I wrote on Craigslist and asked me: “Why do men feel they need to fix things?”, and a correspondence erupted between the two of us which told me that she was smart, well thought out, and witty. I was so engrossed in her emails that I never even thought to ask for a picture or to ask her anything about her looks. I was just enjoying…her. However, like all women, after her questions were answered she wrote the typical line at the end of her email: “Good luck with your search!” Fuck that, this one I need to know more about.
We exchanged phone numbers and began texting each other frequently. It was during these texts that I came to learn that she moved to Chicago from the Ukraine eleven years ago. This revelation presented a problem for me as I’ve never been a fan of accents, especially Eastern European ones. Plus I don’t have a unibrow or own any tracksuits, so I wasn’t sure if she was gonna dig me. Anytime I tell a man that I don’t like accents, he thinks I’m fucking crazy because apparently, other dudes find this hot. Well they can deal with it, I just can’t get behind a woman who can neither talk in the correct tense nor use prepositions. “I going to store yesterday”…GIT the fuck outta here with that shit.
I told The Ukrainian of my accent trepidations, and she assured me that her accent wasn’t too bad, after all, she’d been in America for 11 years. However, the text that she told that to me in, read like this: “Accent not being bad” Bitch, you TEXT in an accent, don’t tell me your accent isn’t bad. Plus, I hadn’t seen a picture of her yet and I kept imagining one of those big Russian broads with huge titties and a hairy gut who wrestles bears or some shit. That’s just my luck on Craigslist, but as I’ve said; Life is like a post on Craigslist…you never know what you’re gonna get.
As much as women with accents have annoyed me in the past, The Ukrainian’s voice was not only comforting, but relaxing as well. It sounded sweet, like a mandolin and her accent made every sentence sound like a slow song. It wasn’t bad at all. On top of that, she was smart. We talked about Russian history and she told me about the Ukraine as I asked her about the differences between our two countries. Maybe it’s not accents that I don’t like as much as the stupidity that usually comes with them; I admit to having a low tolerance to stupidity, and The Ukrainian+ wasn’t stupid in any way. In fact, as we got to know each other better, or rather as SHE got to know ME better, she began giving me advice which I would normally find super annoying. However, HER advice was poignant, realistic, and informed. I found myself not only NOT being annoyed by it, but asking for more.
I forgot about asking for a picture. I wasn’t even thinking about what she looked like as I grew to look forward to our conversations over the next week. A mistake to be sure, but one I would not come to regret…for once. Now, it should be noted at this point that The Ukrainian, like The Bad Dog Owner a few weeks before, told me that she wasn’t looking to be in a relationship. She told me that she was fulfilled in her life at the moment and didn’t feel that she needed a man to complete her. Once again…The mother fuckin’ god damned Friend Zone.
Ghost of Rod Serling: HEY!
Me: OK! Jesus, man.
But that didn’t really matter to me at this point as I wasn’t really thinking of fucking The Ukrainian. To be honest, I didn’t know much about her, I was just having fun talking to her, and I was enjoying the shit out of her voice as we did. She didn’t offer up much information about herself, instead she philosophized and talked about my writing while asking questions about me. Now, don’t think me rude, I DID ask her a ton of questions about her, but other than ancillary stuff about getting her nails done and cultural things about the Ukraine…she just wasn’t that forthcoming.
After a week of this, I asked her out on a date. She didn’t want to call it a date, but whatever. Again, if you don’t want to go on a DATE with me, then don’t tell me how wonderful you think my stories are. I’m pretty fucking clear in ALL of them that I WANT TO GO ON A FUCKING DATE with a woman who doesn’t make me want to jam a shrimp fork in my eye. Did you get that? I WANT TO GO ON A DATE! Let me give you MY definition of a date so we’re PERFECTLY clear on this point.
A DATE is a function in which the two of us go out somewhere, be it dinner or a bar or cow tipping; whatever, and the POSSABILITY exists for fucking. I don’t expect anything, I don’t even WANT anything, and you’ll never feel pressure from me in that way. BUT, before you leave your house to meet me, you’re of a mind set in which you are open to a relationship and me flopping around on top of you at some point. If you’re saying to yourself “I just got out of a bad relationship and JUST want to fuck”…then we don’t need to go on a date. JUST come over here and fuck me. I’m sick of wasting my god damned time on women who have their minds made up before they even leave the house. So if you’re reading this right now, you’re laughing your ass off, and you’re thinking “I’ve gotta get to know this guy better”, do it; but understand what I’M looking for, otherwise you won’t be laughing when you read the NEXT Friend Zone blog titled “The Filthy Godless Who-er”. Got it? Good; let’s move on.
So The Ukrainian and I went out on a date. She told me to meet her at a Jamaican bar on West Chicago Avenue, called “Mr. Brown’s Lounge”. It’s in the Ukrainian village so I just assumed she lived down there somewhere. When I parked down the street from the bar I couldn’t believe where I was at. No bullshit, the apartment building that I parked RIGHT in front of was the SAME one that The Stripper from “The Friend Zone: Episode 7: The Stripper – Part One: Mouth Stuff”, gave me a blowjob in front of two years ago. High five to West Chicago Avenue.
The Ukranian wasn’t there yet, so I went into the bar and ordered a Red Stripe. I love trying new things, and this place was awesome. I was the only white guy in the joint, but they had some Reggae rap music playing and the Jamaican guys on either side of me were eating Jamaican food that smelled fan-fucking-tastic. It was 9:30 at night and I hadn’t eaten all day because I didn’t want to be all farty in case the beast with two backs were to make an appearance. Again, I wasn’t expecting sex but I always like to be prepared. Before I left my place I did the manscaping, shaving my balls bear and trimming the cock fro, and I even cleaned the shit out of my apartment to avoid the embarrassment of shit caked on the back side of my toilet JUST in case we went back there later.
After my third beer, I was feeling pretty good. I was talking with a large black gentleman at the bar who was eating a goat leg as grease ran down his chin. His date sat next to him at the bar and I felt bad for ALL of the women there on dates. Every plate of Jamaican food I saw was full of cabbage and beans, not to mention that most of the dishes were ‘curry’ this and ‘curry’ that. I was surprised the bar didn’t smell like one big fart. I wanted to fart just looking at that shit. Dude gave me a piece of his goat leg to try after I told him I’d never had goat, and the shit was fucking delicious. My phone vibrated with a text message, and as The Ukranian entered the bar…my hunger pangs dissipated into a desire I haven’t felt in a long mother fucking time. Which made the ‘nervous farts’ come on regardless of my empty stomach.
Now, The Ukrainian later told me that she HATES it when guys tell her how beautiful she is, and I imagine that when a girl looks like that…she get’s A LOT of compliments; knowing this, I try to keep my compliments to a minimum when I first meet a beautiful woman. Plus if you overly compliment any woman she’s just gonna think you’re full of shit. Actions speak louder than words; but although she’s probably gonna read this, fuck her; this is my story.
As she sidled up to me at the bar, the first thing I thought was “Fuck, THIS chick is never going find ME attractive.” This was the HOTTEST woman I’ve ever seen in real life. What I mean by that is; sure, Scarlet Johansson and Beyonce are hot, but fuck me, this was a level of hotness I’ve never seen up close. The Ukrainian stood about 5’2” and she was wearing a little leather coat with a scarf and a Frank Sinatra hat. She couldn’t have weighed more than 105 pounds. I’m a face guy more than anything else, and her face was flawless; blue eyes that drank in the light around us and lips that could make an angel weep. Her hair was dyed blonde with black roots and it came flowing out from under her hat to rest on her shoulders. When she spoke to me, the picture I’ve just painted coupled with the voice I described earlier sent a shiver of desire down my spine as goose bumps formed on my forearms. This…this was too good to be true.
I offered her a drink and she refused, which took me aback. Why the fuck meet me at a bar if you’re not going to drink? I felt like an ass because I’d ALREADY been drinking. One of my ‘date’ rules is “You never drink more than your date”. It’s just rude and I know from experience that sober people don’t find drunk people as charming as they think they’re being: and I was already half in the bag. After an hour she ordered herself a big ass Jamaican rum drink of some kind and spent the rest of our time at Mr. Brown’s slowly drinking it. To be fair, the glass it came in was almost as big as she was.
Periodically we’d go outside to smoke which offered us the opportunity to hear each other as we talked. She was great, and she didn’t seem to be as uninterested in me as I thought she would be. At around 12:30, I suggested we try another bar and she agreed. Because I had been drinking and she only had the one, she suggested that SHE drive us to “Exit”. I hopped in her BMW and off we went.
The Ukranian had never been to Exit, but I’m comfortable there and I thought she might like it. However, I forgot that it was Thursday night…and Thursday night is “bondage night” at Exit. We went upstairs after going in, where a man was chained to a floor-to-ceiling chain link fence on the dance floor while his exposed back was being whipped by overweight chicks in leather and chains. The Ukrainian didn’t seem to mind. We sat at the bar as I apologized for bringing her there and asked if she wanted to leave. She said that she didn’t mind, at all. Another round, barkeep. We talked for another hour, occasionally bringing the bar tenders into our conversation. The Ukrainian laughed and it seemed that we could be engrossed in each other no matter the surroundings. Fuck…her laugh is almost as beautiful as she is.
At one point while at Exit, we went outside to smoke. In front of the building, there was a fat guy in his mid forties being dominated by one of the dominatrix chicks who was also smoking. He was a heavy set man with coke bottle glasses and zits all over his face. I would think he owns cats and every season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD. This guy was enamored and beholden to the dom and did everything she told him too as The Ukrainian and I watched on. “Get on your knees” she said, barely paying attention to him; and he did. “Smack yourself” she said indifferently; and he did…hard. “Lie on your back between my legs and stick out your tongue”, again; he did as he was bid. With her legs spread above him, the dom squatted down as if to piss on him…and used his mouth as an ashtray for her cigarette. The old dude was LOVING it…I was disgusted.
Look, God bless whatever makes some fat dude in a Foghat concert t-shirt happy outside of a bar. But all I could think about as this beautiful Ukrainian woman stood beside me, was “there, but for the grace of God, go I.” How many more fruitless internet dates will I go on before I become this man? How many years before my search becomes too tiring, before my patience gives out and I fold my loneliness inside a cocoon of desperation? Will my failures force me to give up as this man has obviously done? To become cuckold at the thought of humiliation just to have the attentions of a woman? Have I been doing this all along, although not to this extreme? Just then a homeless man tapped me on the shoulder and brought me back to reality. “Can I have a smoke?” he asked. “GIT the fuck outta here!” I lashed out hiding my fear behind anger. The Ukrainian and I went back inside as I tried to shake off the dystopian feeling of dread that the sight of that man lying on his back with a cigarette butt poking out of his mouth, brought on within me.
We left Exit at around 2AM and she drove me back to my car. On the way, I told her to pull over and she did, parallel parking on a narrow city street. Maybe it was the fat guy outside of Exit, or maybe it was just her voice and how the street lights reflected off the rearview mirror into her eyes…but I had to kiss her. I couldn’t wait one second more to feel her in my mouth, to touch her face, to peel back the layers of indecision which have always plagued me and reveal the man I want, fuck…NEED to be. This was my stand, and this was the woman I wanted to make that stand with. Fortune favors the bold; never forget that.
She kissed, lightly at first; but as the minutes passed, her heart began a different beat. The more laborious her breathing, the more ferocious she became. Passion leapt from her and she was now kissing hard and fast; writhing, she climbed over the console and straddled me in the passanger seat; a quick move for such a small woman. As my hands devoured her ass, she pulled her top up and said “Touch my body, Terry”, in that fucking accent. With one hand on her ass, I grabbed her breast with the other and sucked on her pink nipple. She pushed my head into her breasts and I lapped them up furiously. We kissed again and she knelt down on the passenger side floor in front of me, looking me dead in the eyes. Never taking her eyes off of mine, she took out my cock and smiling…breathed on it. Hot breath raised every ounce of muscle in it and I swear, made it bigger than it would normally be. She took my dick in her hand and pulled me close to kiss her as she stroked me. She kissed me hard, and after a few minutes, I came hard. She kept saying “oh!”, “oh!”, “oh!” in these cute little snaps with each pulse of cum that shot out of me. When I was done, she kissed me again, straddling me and getting MY cum on me. She bit my ear and said in a soft whisper “I like this. No man has cum this way for me before.”
She never put me in her mouth, but I did get cum everywhere. It was on her shirt, her breasts, here chin, the glovebox leather and even the window. I will come like nobody’s business with the right motivation.
I was glad that I made my stand. I tell you, sometimes it is good to be the fucking king.
After more kissing, followed by talking, she drove us back to my car and parked behind it. While we sat there under the city street lights casting their cold lonely glow on empty sidewalks and store fronts, The Ukrainian began to reveal to me snippets of her life; never divulging too much information. Unfortunatly…this just made me want her more. I’ll be honest, I was a tad drunk still, but I remembered her telling me that she was married and that her husband had left her, moving back to the Ukraine three years ago. Jesus…what kind of pussy was THIS guy getting that he left HER? She told me that she’d never fucked an American which actually put a bit of pressure on me as the hopeful future American ambassador to her vagina; then she looked and me and said “I’ve never really wanted to…until now Terry.” And the kissing started again. Later, I’d made a joke about condoms…and the Ukrainian dropped a bomb. “I do not like for man to wear condom”…MARRY ME!
But seriously, I ALWAYS wear condoms. But it sounded like to me that The Ukrainian had only been with ONE man in eleven years…and if she preferred that I didn’t wear a rain coat on my dingus? Well, I’m only a gentleman after all. I have to oblige a lady.
The Ukrainian and I texted throughout the weekend and when Monday came I asked if I could see her again. She said she’d love to go out with me and that she really ‘liked’ me. She stressed that, several times “I really like you a lot Terry Cummings, do you like me?” First of all, how hot is it when a woman sais your full name like that? And second; Are you fucking kidding me? OF COURSE I like you. She said we could go out later in the week and a smile formed on my face from ear to ear…The Friend Zone indeed; p-shaw!
Now, the first time we went out, I met her where she told me to meet her, which is fine; as I said I like trying new things. But this was my opportunity to show HER something new, so I started asking her questions about herself to try to form a better idea of what she might like to do. And the girl stonewalled me.
I wasn’t asking her anything overtly personal either; it was innocuous shit like “what’s your favorite color?”, “what food to you like?”, and “what’s your favorite movie?” I didn’t present these questions in a way as to make her think I was fishing for personal information, I was just trying to get to know her better. “Why I should tell you these things?” she asked incredulously as we talked on the phone. “Because I want to know you better, why wouldn’t you want to tell me these things? It’s not like I’m asking what’s your favorite scent of douche.” I said jokingly. She laughed that perfect laugh of hers and said “I think you know me too much.” What the fuck? “Well if I’m going to take you out, it would be nice to AT LEAST know if you’re a vegetarian before I take you to a steak place, if you were ever molested by a clown before I take you a carnival, or if you’re homophobic before I take you to a play like “Gay Cats” or some shit. Tell me SOMETHING woman.” “I like wherever you will be taking me” she said firmly.
Well, what at first I saw as the playful withholding of information was now kind of pissing me off. I mean, everyone is entitled to their privacy, but I can’t know you’re favorite fucking color? The fuck? So, in a serious tone, not really giving a fuck that she would probably hang up on me and never speak to me again; I said “Well if you’re not gonna let me get to know you…then just come over here and fuck me.” The first second that passed by without a sound made me think she’d hung up; the second made me think she was considering it; by the third she said “What is your address?”
BOIYOYOYOYOYNG! Instant boner. Just the THOUGHT of seeing her full-on naked made my dick so hard Albert Einstein couldn’t have figured it out. I gave her my address and she told me she was 20 minutes away. FUCK, I wasn’t prepared for this AT all. I immediately stripped and jumped in the shower. My conditioner takes 10 minutes to set in my hair, and time was of the essence. After lathering up my head while singing along to “The Thong Song” which was blasting on my stereo, I jumped out of the shower; cock still pointing the way like a hunting dog. Dripping wet and nekkid, I ran to the bedroom. I made the bed, ran to the kitchen, did the dishes and then quickly jumped back in the shower to do some light manscaping. I mean, this was a booty call right?
After shaving a smiley face into my cock fro, which is a lot easier to do with a boner as it pulls all the skin taught, I brushed my teeth, washed the conditioner out of my hair and dryed off. Then I sprayed a hit of CK One in the air at cock level and walked into it; and just for good measure, I sprayed a hit of it at vagina level for Blu and she BACKED up into it. What? I don’t know what kinda crazy Ukrainian sex this broad is into, don’t you judge me. Next; what to wear? I went with a red smoking jacket with a black lapel and black suede elbow patches, put on some dashing man spanks to slender me up, and dumped tobacco from one of my cigarettes into an old corn cob pipe I got from a Popeye convention that my mom took me to in 1980 at which I THINK Robin Williams fucked my mom, but that’s another story. T-minus ONE minute to pending vagina, all systems on standby.
Now, in reality I didn’t know what to expect. The Ukrainian came over looking unbelievably beautiful as ever, she’d lightly curled her hair which made her look like even more of a super star than the first night I met her, and she was wearing a tight white t-shirt that showed off her 32C’s.. Let me just tell you something…those may be the MOST spectacular ta-ta’s I’ve ever seen…and I’ve seen a LOT of ta-ta’s. What’s that Ghost of Rod Serling? Yeah, mostly in porn…man, fuck you. Back to the story.
She came in and asked me to put on a pot of coffee…yes, coffee. Who fucks on coffee? What am I, cheating on my wife at 6AM with the overweight Hispanic maid in a shitty La Quinta Inn in Dover Colorado while on a business trip? Whatever, I made the coffee. She walked around my apartment as if she owned it, and asked if we could hang out on my balcony. We smoked and drank coffee for an hour as she finally opened up about herself…a bit. Then we went back inside and sat on opposite ends of my couch…and THIS…this is where I could hear the door to the friend zone slowly creaking open.
There’s a point in ANY relationship between a man and a woman, usually at the beginning, where the woman no longer thinks of the man as a sexual threat. Let’s call it ‘Peak Vagina’. You steadily go up a slope towards sex when a critical moment passes by in which you miss an opportunity. Now you may not have KNOWN the opportunity was there, but it was a perceived opportunity given to you by the woman. This is where the study of body language becomes a near necessity in a man’s quest for the lost arch (of her back). Once that opportunity is missed? You’ve plateu’d at Peak Vagina and you now start sloping down…into the friend zone.
Ghost of Rod Serling: ASSHOLE!
Me: ah, ah, ah. I didn’t capitalize it; doesn’t count. SHUT the fuck up.
Ghost of Rod Serling: …
She told me as we sat on my couch, that she didn’t know if she could have sex with me. Well, yeah, now that you said it out loud like that. Sex should always be spontaneous, sprung upon you both like a Vajack in the box when neither of you are expecting it. When it’s discussed before hand, ESPECIALLY that bluntly? The Vajack stays in the box. Shit.
She told me that I’m nice, maybe too nice and she doesn’t want to get ‘involved’, she just wants to have ‘fun’. She said “I am becoming to like you, and I must not do this.” that was the first time she didn’t look at me while talking to me. Not long after this revelation, she said she had to leave. I walked her down to her car and made ONE last ditch effort to salvage SOMETHING from the evening. I leaned in to kiss her…and she pulled the dreaded chest push on me. That’s right, she put her hand on my chest and pushed me away saying “I don’t think is such good idea” Oops. “I understand” I said backing away, hands in the air “I’m sorry if I was being presumptuous.”
“Terry…is just not possible.” I apologized for misreading the moment and told her I don’t take rejection well; like most things in life, you only have to tell me once. So if she ever changed her mind…SHE’D need to make the move.
The Ukranian got into her car and drove off, bringing the best and most satisfying sexual experience I may have ever had with her. Well, thems the breaks. I deleted her phone number, waved goodbye to my boner whose one eye was drawn down in sadness…or anger I suppose, depending which direction you were looking at it from; and walked up the steps to my apartment with my head hung low and that sad Charlie Brown music playing in the background. As I walked past his door, my neighbor who had a good view of our parting from his window, leaned out and said “DAAAAAAMN! You got denied…” while shaking his head. Keep walking I told myself…just keep walking.
Ghost of Rod Serling: The best laid plans of mice and men…and Terry Cummings, the large overbearing vulgar asshole who wanted nothing but love. Terry Cummings, now just a part of a smashed landscape on the horizon of wishful thinking, a piece of the rubble in a bombed out building made of good intentions, just a fragment of the man he so delusionally hoped to be. Mr. Terry Cummings…in The Friend Zone.
Deleted Scene 1
Irena asked me; “Why do man like when I suck on lollipop?”…Shut the fuck up sister, YOU know why men like it when you suck on your lollipop. The fact that you asked me that question tells me you think I’m just as stupid as they are, not even ‘stupid’ but STOOpid.
Deleted Scene 2
There’s nothing quite as disheartening as when a woman tells you “I’m already in love”, “what’s the point of you then?” is my immediate question. Git the fuck outta here.
Deleted Scene 3
Man, desire can be a mother fucker, can’t it? I mean sometimes you want something SO fucking bad that it consumes your very soul, making you blind to everything around you; even to your own hubris. On the other hand, that NEED, that craving can make you feel alive even as it pulls you down to the depths of gluttony, (it’s at this very point in my writing that I had to stop to take a shit)