I'll tell you this.
You know when you meet someone whom you think is a good person?
Morally driven, able to comprehend basic empathy, one of those people you know would never cheat on you, or willingly watch you go through any emotional pain that they may have caused.
I'd like to say I've got pretty good judgment of people, but sometimes, your pelvic speaks louder than your brain. Can't say that's what happened to me, but generally, I'm just saying.
You give it some time to weigh out whether this person is here to make you happy or break your heart. A good amount of time later, they stick a gnarley cactus branch up your ass and you're wondering where the hell it came from. You look back at them and suddenly, they're not the person you once knew a couple years ago.
Sadly, you're left with the tough decision to move on--but is it as tough as it seems?
If this mother-fucker is ramming your asshole with a gnarley cactus branch, and it hurts like fuck, wouldn't it be a relief (at the very least) to have that piece of shit out of your awesome ass--life, rather?
Yeah, you've gotta tape your ass back together, but it'll heal, eventually.
Now you know what to look for in people you meet in the future (someone who ISN'T carrying a bag with a gnarley cactus branch in it). You're traumatized, but after finding the right person whose patient enough to help you dissolve your pain, you allow yourself to love again.
But for people like me, it's not over until the fat lady chokes on her twinkie and dies a slow, sweet death. What does that mean? Simple:
No one sticks a gnarley cactus branch in Kemeny's ass and get's away with it, alive.
(muhahahaha)
