The Lottery of Love

A wise man once told me "If you stick your dick where it doesn't belong, you're gonna get herpes." He also told me "A hole is a hole in the dark" and "If there's grass on the field you can always play in the mud," so he probably knew what he was talking about, or he was good at making up stories and sounding funny while hammered.

This man also encouraged me to spread my wings and start "fucking bitches." This was years ago, when I was still a steadfast virgin so I countered that I was waiting for that "special someone," you know, that "perfect girl." To this he gave me a piece of wisdom I wish I would have taken for granted then, instead of hindering myself by being unnecessarily picky and introverted.

Here is the advice that he gave me:
"If your goal is to get married, remember that 99.9% of your relationships are going to fail before you get married. You're only going to meet one that is worth it. You might as well have fun with the rest."

Of course this is a more eloquent version of what he was attempting to get across. The original version was loaded with much more drunken slurring and profanity. But this advice is excellent advice. And anyone who does not take it to heart in some way, shape or form is merely stunting themselves socially and emotionally.

Now to be fair I will give you a disclaimer before we continue.

1) My ("love") life has been described as "a Parade of Whores" by more than one of my friends...

 [Erm, exactly like this. Yep. All the time.]

The elusive 5 some is likely, given my spiral of drunken exploits, inevitable.

2) Given that I am likely emotionally incapable of experiencing love for the time being, any pontification on love that I offer or make should be treated with a grain of salt.

[Or a whole mine's worth of Salt]

On second thought, that might not be enough. Just sayin'

3) I'm still dumb enough to believe it's possible and that someone perfect will sweep me off my feet again.

[Someone like her. Bullets, Booze and Sex Appeal. Only thing missing is a Burrito]

There's probably a Burrito/Soft Taco joke in here somewhere...wait, what do you mean my priorities are way beyond fucked up?

Let's take a step back to our wise man's declaration: That 99.9% of all relationships you experience will fail. That number, assuming that it's an accurate number and not rounded off in anyway shape or form, indicates that your odds are 1 in 1,000 for finding a deep, meaningful and life long lasting relationship. Hmm... 1 in 1000 chance of winning per play... this almost sounds... familiar. Too familiar...

[Clicking on this picture causes an Ohio state employee to break in your house and steal your wallet]

He's actually doing you a favor. He's saving you time, effort and the undue stress of slowly spiraling into bankruptcy

Let us assume every person you've ever fucked senseless, or simply just taken out on a date is a shot at this lottery. Doing the math, unless you're a raging manwhore...erm... well, unless you're a long term raging manwhore... oh...

Look. Point is that chances are you're not going to blow through 1,000 people in your dating life, which has a reasonable span of 16-50. Sure if you go on a date with a single person once a week for the rest of your life you'll blow through a thousand in 20 years. But what happens when you get bogged down with dating someone for a few years. (You will likely do this more than once) Or if you get bogged down dating someone for a few months. (You will pretty much invariably do this more than once) you're hindering your dating experiences. Further from 16-20 your dating life is High School bullshit or standard College bullshit. Once you hit 35-40 you're not going to be pulling in dates because you're getting hideously old. And don't forget, if you do get married, and it ends up wrong, you didn't really cash out... its sort of looking at your ticket, getting 2 out of 3 numbers, thinking you won, then having the lottery attendant call you retarded for not knowing how to count.

Now everyone who knows me, knows that my life style of working too much, fucking too much and drinking too much is self-medication, mainly since they figured it out before I did. But upon further reflection, I think I'm trying something else. I wonder if I throw myself into the fire because I'm trying to pull a human wave style assault on the lottery of love. Much how lottery addicts will play twice as much as they win because they play so many numbers, I have elected to throw as much into the fire as possible, much like the Germans and the Soviets did to each other in Stalingrad.

[It's just like my love and Sex Life, only mine has more titties and (sadly) fewer Tanks]

The amount of vodka consumed might be the same though

Or maybe, I just like drinking and fucking and I want a somewhat socially acceptable reason to justify my drunken debauchery. Sweet, adorable, romantically idealistic guy behind a shell of hardened and bitter manliness or just a dick? Possibly a middle ground? You decide.

 

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(Brought to you by today's sponsor: A boatload of dead Communists and Nazis)

There's like at least one other way to do the Stalingrad picture. So here's shit I picked up from the cutting room floor:

[The broken, remaining shells of these buildings are like my self-medicated soul]

No, there isn't black eyeliner being smudged down my face by my deliciously salty tears right now, why do you ask?

[That smoke; the stench of burnt flesh, oil and the cries of patriots is almost as dark as my soul]

It's blindingly so. Just like the double set of bangs covering my eyes, which are the windows to my blackened soul.

Wait, I've got one more and it's not completely emo parody bullshit. (Okay, yeah it is)

[The previous outcome of my love lottery. Sure I won, but at what cost?]

The Soviets just traded the Nazis for the Stalin. Just like my last relationship. OH SNAP HISTORICAL EX JOKE HAHA FUNNY.

Shit I could go all day with this. I just thought of like 50 more emo + Stalingrad jokes, but I'll spare you.

We now return you to your irregularly scheduled, 

debaucherous asshat blogging away on the internet.

They say you can't win if you don't play. But unfortunately, the game of love isn't the lottery, there are consequences for winning. When you play the lottery, you bet $1.00 (or .50 if you so desire). You will either "Hit" and turn a profit of 40x or 500x or not hit and you're out $1.00. Sure in the long run, you'll lose more than you make but the only gain or loss is monetary.

In the lottery of love, you can win on your first try. In fact if you're young enough and both of you are inexperienced enough, you'll even trick each other into thinking you won. There's no maliciousness, it just one of those things about young love. Or you can never win. Sometimes winning is only delaying misery. Huh. That's not funny at all. Also, the losses are way more than monetary. Last terrible relationship cost me about $15,000 all expenses told, but the way it played out was what really stuck with me...

Which is why I can do anything I want, without second guessing myself. My experience with a meaningful relationship ended up like Stalingrad ended up for the Soviets, (Really, I'm not letting this analogy go, its a fucking gold mine) but the end game taught me something: Nothing worse can happen to me. Why worry? So as I type this out from the top of my head, I guess I really DID win the lottery of love. Sure there may not be a soul mate, but there are plenty of playmates. 

[Why get used to only one set of eyes getting ready to jump your bones in the morning?]

Half of my readers are going "FUCK YEAH" and the other half are going "Fuck you" Either way, I'm still going to get laid

So what's my overarching story? My special lesson? I don't really know. When I started writing this it was supposed to be a few herpes jokes, a few drinking jokes and making fun of people who play the lottery. Instead my idea mutated on me. It is quite possible my own blog has turned against me, much like... dare I say it?

 [Yeah, I went there. Hope you're prepared for the robot apocalypse]

So long as they all look like Summer Glau, I for one, will welcome our future robot overlords

I guess the moral is this: Love can be the best or the worst thing on the planet. Sometimes both. But for the time being, it's not for me. Not until I meet that scantily clad blonde with a bottle of Jack surrounded by bullet casings. Or a cute, sane chick that's cool with me being a bit of a (READ: Total) nerd and doesn't mind me working all the damn time. I guess I could settle for that, Maybe. 

Until next time, my fellow gamblers, try to keep the odds in your favor. Or at least gamble away when you're piss drunk so you have an excuse. That works too. Oh yeah, and try not to vomit in his or her bed or on him/her. I can't tell for sure, but I'm fairly confident that's disgusting.