A friend said to me, “It’s better to have loved and lost than not loved at all”. I’m sorry friend, but if you we’re any sort of friend you would appreciate what a load of old cock that is. I don’t think fondly of the four years I spent with the ex. No! I want those four years back. What a waste of time that was. The ex said to me, “If you love me you would let me go”. You fancy someone else?  That’s grand then. I’ll move out and keep playing for the house, you just batter in pet. How’s that? Its cos I love you darling.

 It’s those clichés that folk say to make you feel better, but that isn’t what you want to hear. What you want to hear is that she is a cunt and you can do better. No one said that to me, which makes me wonder. Am I a cunt? We’ll, I know I am, but how big a cunt am I? Am I a wee tight one, or a fuck off gaping Clyde tunnel of a cunt? Either way, I know am a cunt, but so are most of the cunts that surround us every day. We are all cunts.  The difference is down to how shallow we are. Some cunts are attracted to shiny things, and are easily led. And then some cunts require substance. It’s not all about what’s on the cover.

 You’ve probably guessed that am not particularly lucky in love. Admittedly, a lot of it is possibly my fault. Possessing such a negative outlook is down to playing in bands for years, I presume. I liken it to taking home a woman in her forties. All the good shit goes south, and the only thing you can be sure of is that you’re going to be disappointed. She looked great in the pub, but that shit’s gone flat now. If you fill a pint only half way up, I suppose you can call it half full. If you drink half, it’s half empty, you dick. I’ll give you an example. Some lassie was checking me out on the train once, and nervously, I’m clocking this but trying to stay cool. But, right, she’s really starring right at me now, this is a bit erm, weird, guess she’s into me no? It’s at this point the inspector comes round, asks for her ticket, and then promptly disappears without checking mine. Shortly after, he reappears with two more concerned members of staff. Turns out she died hours ago whilst looking in my direction.

I reckon she would have been a ride if she was alive but. And no one could disprove that the last thing she was thinking of when she went to that great tower block in the sky was me. I dunno, she may have not been of a lucid frame of mind and that cramming cheese Quavers up her arse might have been the last thing? But I guess I got carte blanche on that one, so fuck off. My imagination ran wild all over it.

 A friend, who shall remain nameless, casually told me on the bus that she had been raped. So casual she was almost smiling. I mean, what could be funnier than being raped? Being raped by a clown possibly? But either way, you can’t even deliver that shit with a wry smile. But sure enough she was serious, and trusted me enough to not only tell me, but to hope that I even gave a shit. I didn’t really, but I played along cos it sounded like a half interesting story. 

 I don’t know if everyone feels like me, and am kinda canvassing opinion here, but loving and losing is not good. You learn from it, but it isn’t good learning. It just hurts like hell. You could get arrested, or even die. Like everything, it’s all random, and it’s all luck. So piss off you lucky bastards. Like your mum said, am only jealous.