A Dudebro’s 14th Week of Being Single

Monday:

Checks email. Finds no messages. Eats a block of chocolate and watches Terminator 2 in slow motion for the seventh time this month.

Tuesday:

Peruses the local personals groups hoping to find a desperate slut who might be willing to meet for a totally nonsexual dinner date. Steals a nonconsensual hug from the dog. Drinks smoothie and feels instantly buff.

Wednesday:

Buys a pair of tighty wighties, then cries inconsolably because she will never see him wearing them. Eats a slab of chocolate and washes it down with a bottle of Tepila. I mean Stequila. Tekilla? Goggles the sfelling, then flasses out on the poggo's trail.

Thursday:

Receives a text from the ex saying, “Thanks for the dick pic you sent last night with the hawt chocolate smudges. My new boyfriend totally got off on it.” Weeps. Screams. Wails. Eats two slabs of fucking chocolate, one tub of bloody ice cream, and the fucking Lindt bunny he got from the fucking ex last goddamned Easter. Fucking hell!

Friday morning:

Reads seven months’ worth of personals over two bottles of vodka, a bathtub full of Nutella, and a gingerbread house. Googles “where have all the good women gone?” Finds a Bonnie Tyler video instead of an answer, then watches it on repeat all morning because he needs a hero and she’s gotta be strong and she’s gotta be fast and she’s gotta be fresh from the fight.

Friday afternoon

Gets a knock on the door from the neighbours raging about how he could at least change the song occasionally if the entire street has to hear it.

Forces the dog to watch TV with him all day.

Friday night:

Drinks flive bwottles of wine. Makes a painting of her bloken hart in blud then rites a blog post called “Y Im bisexual nau”. Flasses out in the middle of a Kik converslation with a local hotty.

Saturday morning:

Googles “Symptoms of alcoholism.” Steals three non-consensual hugs from the dog.

Saturday noon:

Checks out ex’s new boyfriend on Facebook, who is apparently Tom Hardy’s DOPPELGANGER ARE YOU SHITTING ME??? Spends the rest of the day lying on the carpet listening to the drip drip drip of the tap.

18:00: Writes off love forever and ever a-fucking-men. Spends the rest of the night tearfully braiding the dog’s fur.

19:00: Calls the hawt bi guy and asks him out on a date that might just lead to true love.

Three hours later:

Lists all the reasons he’ll never shag a boy. Runs out of paper and goes out to get more. Breaks ankle. Limps home. Sings along to an Air Supply tape using a carrot as a microphone.

10 minutes later: Masturbates with the carrot.

Friday evening:

Receives a letter from the neighbour that says, “You are in our thoughts and prayers.”

Sunday:

Wakes up to find the dog hiding behind the couch covered with a curtain. See? Even he wants to abandon him. Feeds him boiled celery and dry pellets for lunch instead of ALPO Gravy Cravers, dresses him in a rugby jersey and takes him out for a walk in front of the neighbourhood Alsatian, so there.

Sunday evening:

Eats the ALPO Gravy Cravers.