I Fucked My Way Into This Mess, And I’ll Fuck My Way Out
I’ll say it. I like to fuck. I do it a lot. And sometimes it gets me into unfortunate situations. Like right now. Right now I am royally fucking fucked.
See, I went to this big dinner party the other night, trying to stay out of trouble, but lo and be-fucking-hold, who’s there but one of the fuckfiends from our sales team, wearing fuck-me pumps and this little green skirt. So I fucked her. Twice. First time quick, second time slow. And then I fucked her friend Michelle (a great fuck), and Michelle’s boyfriend, Alec, and his ex-girlfriend Rina, who’s a fucking Persian sex goddess. Same bed, same night.
Fucking incredible fucking.
Then it hits me: Fuck. Rina is my boss’s daughter, that fucking fuck Alec fucked my sister last year, and my damn wife told me last week that if I don’t stop fucking other chicks she’s going to “walk out that [fucking] door and never come back.” And it takes a fuckload of nerve for my wife to say that.
But look, I’m not some two-bit fuck who fucks up and then expects some other fucknut to clean up his fucking mess. A man’s got to take some responsibility or he’ll never amount to shit. I fucked my way into this, and by God, I’ll fuck my way out.
I’m so far the fuck up shit’s creek, I can’t see straight, but that’s my own fucking problem. If I’m between a rock and a hard fuck, I’m going to chose the hard fuck every time. No regrets. I saw an out-of-this-fucking-world gorgeous piece of ass-meat, and I pounced like a fucking cougar. Any fuckhead who thinks I should have fucking walked away is a fucking fucktard and I’ll say it to his fucking face, the fuckface.
But fuck if I know what to do next. If my mom were still alive, I’d cry on her fucking shoulder. Man, I really stuck my fucking cock in it this time.
I know a lot of fuckwads who wouldn’t do fuck-all about this predicament, just fuck off for a while and wait for the whole thing to blow over. But you see, that’s just not this motherfucker’s style. What the fuck ever happened to accountability? I can be a real fuck, sure, but I fucking finish what I start, and not just when I’m fucking.
In the end, I only see one way out of this: more fucking. Much more. An all-out, nuts-in-the-guts fuckfest. Yes, one false-fucking-move and you’re ass-first in a fucking genuine clusterfuck real fucking quick—but do I look like a green-eared sportfucker to you, fuckrod?
Item Number Fuck on my agenda? Swoop home like a fuck-falcon and fuck my old lady like I love her. Keep fucking the skirt girl, plus hot-fuck Rina to keep that screamer quiet. Then line up a pity-fuck-and-suck with that fat-fuck deli chick, roll on out for a balls-out fuckfest with the redhead twins (ménage-à-fucking-trois, for you French fucks), and a three-day, four-night fuck-stravagaza down to Mexi-fucking-co next weekend to see the fuckable Miss Esmerelda.
At the end of the day, I don’t really give a fuck. These women can fuck me around, but they know not to take it too fucking far. You know why? Because you don’t fuck with a fucker, that’s why. And if you fuck with a fucker like me, you’ll end up being the fuck that gets fucked. Simple as that.
By Kurt Beckman
September 20, 2006