Everything is wrong with me
Thursday, September 23, 2004
"I hope you die. Hell, I hope we both die."
I am universally-recognized as the king of leaving drunken messages on the voicemail of an ex. I have had years of practice at this, since pretty much every relationship I'm in ends in me being dumped and, in my opinion, mistreated or wronged. Also, in case I haven't mentioned this already, I like to drink a little bit.

Everyone wants passion in a relationship. Whether it manifests itself in fucking or fighting, isn't passion what it's all about? Doesn't everyone secretly desire a love so grandiose and overwhelming so as to obliterate their life and their rationality? Who hasn't read about the disastrous and insane relationship between F. Scott and Zelda and thought, "Well, that's some of the craziest shit I've ever heard, but it still sounds kinda cool."

Generally speaking, I can not offer a woman happiness, financial security, reliability, love, respect, honesty, manners or good hygiene, but I do have lots of passion (this is because I am insane). However, this passion usually only appears after the relationship is over. And when I'm drunk. And when it's after 3 in the morning. Damn.

My work in leaving crazy messages has inspired countless others to elevate their game past the "I love you and miss you" or "Why did you dump me?" standard messages to much more creative missives on the voicemails of their exes. Actually, I have no idea whether or not this is true, but, I'm guessing it is.

My own work includes such messages as:

- "Hey baby. It's me, Jason, the guy you dumped last week. I'm drunk and I wanted to tell you that I wrote a poem for you. Do you want to hear it? Ok, here it goes: 'You're a whore.' Did you like that? Because I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope a pack of wild dogs attacks you in Central Park while pigeons shit on you. Have a good night."

- "Hey, it's me. Listen, I just had a thought, and I realized that you should probably get checked for STD's. Because I cheated on you - a lot. I bet that stings, doesn't it? Well, if it doesn't, maybe this will: you're a whore. I hope you get hit by a car and then the car explodes. Also, someone pees on you. Have a good night."

- "Well, can't say I'm not surprised you didn't pick up. It's Jason, it's 4:41 in the morning, and I was just thinking about you because I just threw up. And I realized that this throw up reminds me of you, because like you, it's ugly, it smells, and it gives terrible blow jobs and is obsessed with its weight. Also, if this vomit had a reputation, it would be the reputation of a whore, just like you, because you're a whore. I hope that you eat nothing but tofu and you still gain fifty pounds. Have a good night."

Also, one night, in the middle of a particularly vitriolic spasm, I left three, count 'em three, messages for an ex, each message five minutes long. Why three messages at five minutes each? Because the voicemail lady kept coming on and saying, "I'm sorry, but you have reached the maximum amount of time allowed for a voicemail" and hanging up on me. Apparently, I had more to get off my chest, so I kept calling back. Very nice.

Where am I going with this? I few posts ago, I asked for music suggestions, and you guys really laid it on me. I am very grateful, and I've liked a lot of the stuff. Keep 'em coming, but if you send more, don't send me 50 songs at a time. I appreciate the effort, but it's a little overwhelming. Send a handful that I absolutely need to listen to, and, if you want, let me know what you're wearing or send me a picture of yourself having sex with three dudes at once.

One reader, whose name or location I can't mention because he did not list them like I have been asking you to, sent in a suggestion for a song called "No Children" by a band called The Mountain Goats. I had heard neither of this band or of this song, so I figured I'd give it a download and check it out.

The lowest form of blogging (I still despise that word and all its incarnations) is when people post song lyrics. There are so many things wrong with it but I care not to list them, because I don't want to sound too much like a hypocrite since I'm going to post some lyrics in a minute. I just wanted to say this to cover my ass.

This particular song is about a husband and wife ending their marriage bitterly. Very somber theme, with very somber lyrics, but it's delivered in a pop-folk way that makes it kinda humorous and sad at the same time. The singer sings in a very chippy bright tone, and it makes you kinda feel happy. Guitars are happily strumming away, and you'd think it's almost a children's song if you listened just to the music. Then you hear what he's saying, and you think, "Damn. Now that's fucked up."

And this guy, well, he's pretty good. A small sampling:
I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow
I hope it bleeds all day long
Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises
We're pretty sure they're all wrong

I hope it stays dark forever
I hope the worst isn't over
And I hope you blink before I do
And I hope I never get sober

And I hope when you think of me years down the line
You can't find one good thing to say
And I hope that if I found the strength to walk out
You'd stay the hell out of my way

I am drowning
There is no sign of land
You are coming down with me
Hand in unlovable hand

And I hope you die
I hope we both die
[instrumental break]

"I hope you die/I hope we both die" blows me out of the water. Good lord. As much pain and unhappiness as I've wished every ex, I never thought of saying, "I hope you die. Hell, I hope we both die." That is some serious pain right there. And god help me if I don't think it's funny as hell.

Again, I don't throw the term "genius" around often, but it think it's appropriate here.

And now, I want a girlfriend. I want a whirlwind romance and a soul-shattering break-up, just so I can leave this on a voicemail in the middle of the night after a bottle of Ketel One, three Heinekens, and a joint. I contemplated leaving calling my exes from way back and leaving this message, but since I haven't spoken to them in months, it might be a little weird.

So if there are any crazy women out there, email me asap so we can start dating. The sooner we fall in love, the sooner, you'll get to hear:

"Hey babe, it's Jason. Listen, I think ending our relationship was a good idea, and while we're on the topic of good ideas, I've got one: I hope your children are ugly, and at least two of them are retarded. I know that's not an idea per se, but you are whore, so I figured, you know, whatever. Also, I hope you die. Actually, I hope we both die. This way, we'll get to hell at the same time, and I'll be able to torture you for all eternity. That is, if you can stop blowing dudes for just one fucking second, because, as I have noted, you are a whore. Have a good night."

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