TWO-Take Me Or Leave Me

It's popular belief and the regular generalization that people like me are insensitive, cold-hearted, and unfeeling. How cruel. Who said stereotypes are completely accurate, anyway?

We're all people. We all have feelings, and we all surround ourselves with people we love and the things we like to make ourselves feel better. That construction worker that helped build that skyscraper you see when you walk down the street might have a family to go home to, that slutty teen celebrity felt really bad when she first discovered that little Chinese kids were working in factories for Wal-Mart, and Hitler had a favorite flavor ice cream, which he's probably eating right now in the lowest level of Hell. Simply and mildly put, everyone in the world has feelings, a personality, and everything else that comes together to make and complete a person; no one is completely soulless. Conclusion: I have a heart, I'm not as callous as people think I am, and womanizers in general are sensitive and caring…to a degree.

Why do people create stereotypes and stick to them to block out people they encounter in their lives based on these labels? I think that when I will meet a person who started any stereotype at all, I'll punch them in the face and walk away.

But alas, the cruel truth is that stereotypes are there in life and won't go away for a long time. They will always be there for us to overcome and to prove wrong. The judgment will always be there, and thus, world peace will never be achieved…Okay, well, that "world peace" part was kind of lame. How about "societal unity?" That works.

Now, I'm not saying that I'm not guilty of judging people based on stereotypes and their appearance. I'll admit that every once in a while, I'll look at someone and based off superficial standards (in other words, if a person is ugly), then I'll think to myself or even walk up to them and tell them, Yes, that person doesn't have sex very often, or at least, not as much as I do. Even so, I think I keep my judgment to a reasonable level. And if you're thinking that I'm a pompous, arrogant tool, then right back at you; you're judging me right there, are you not?

I was walking down the street one day, going out to grab some coffee and groceries, and maybe a new pair of shoes if I was in a crazy mood. I walked past a newsstand when I noticed a familiar-looking girl scanning some magazines. As it turned out, it was Natalie, the one-nighter I had the other night. I silently walked up behind her, looking over her shoulder at the magazine she was flipping through. She still hadn't noticed me.

"You're reading '13 Tips For A More Beautiful You?' Come on, Natalie, you shouldn't have taken me seriously when I told you that you were ugly the morning after. You're actually really pretty. From an angle." I said.

She turned around, startled, and folded the magazine, "What the hell? I thought you wanted nothing to do with me again. Leave me alone, you asshole."

"What? I just told you that you were pretty. That's hardly being an asshole, is it?"

She put the magazine back and started to walk away. I followed, "You're just a sorry little prick who uses women like me to cherish your pride. All you have is sarcasm and a big dick." She paused, "Oh shit, that came out totally wrong."

"Didn't you want to get to know me before you left? I'm just being friendly here."

She let out a shaky laugh, "Yeah, friendly. You just want to get in my pants again, right?" She turned around again and continued walking. "Seriously, what do you want? You had your fun, why are you still following me?"

"Just wanted to stop and say a quick hello. See you."

With that I turned my foot and walked the opposite direction. Obviously, Natalie had a pole up her pussy. Boo masturbation, she could've just come to me again.

It's women like Natalie that always make my mind and my conscience go back to the same, twisted principle that I have refined within my soul: Women are merely tools for pleasure, and in the world, it is a man's duty to use these tools for their enjoyment. It's a fascinating bit of advice that my father kept repeating when I grew up and somehow, I've managed to adopt that advice into my own perverse lifestyle. Preston Buckley, my father, was just like how I am today, a dreamy lothario making the most of his beloved penis, pillaging pussies until a small accident came up which cost him dire consequences: me. To my father, my mother was just another one-night stand, someone he'd never see again, but when I came into the picture, my father made one of the hardest decisions of his life: to stay with my mother and raise me. No, Daddy never loved Mom, and there was nothing keeping them together except me. I never saw them kiss, hug, have an actual conversation when I was little. I hated both my father and my mother for that, especially my dad, and I vowed not to ever become like him. But something in me, the thing that makes us all human, told be to be daring, and after the first night with a woman on my bed next to me, I was hooked.

But back to the subject, Natalie and her bitter attitude always made me think lesser of women. The side of them that demands sentiment and hugs and meaningful kisses and true love and their principles that bind a man's vanity and thrills to the woman's doctrines. They say that the woman has it rough on them in a relationship. Bullshit.

A word of thanks to my reviewers:

Sunday Love: Thanks so much! Haha, I'm glad you're attracted to Buckley's bluntness and overall being a complete jackass. Please keep reading!

Chosenchic16: WOW! It's such an honor to be reviewed by you! You're such a great writer and I love that you're even taking a glance at my work.

Marylyn-Mercy: Thanks for getting back into the new version and staying such a true fan of mine! I love you for everything!

Verroku: Thanks! Hahaha, keep reading!

A Delicious Bass: Haah! You must always fall for the wrong guy! Glad you're liking it!