Tuesday, June 3, 2008

He's so sweet!

He stalks you down the street, doe-eyed, and sneaks up from behind, tapping your shoulder and asking a simple question. You answer because he seems harmless, and his intentions are obviously nothing more than wanting a small piece of information. Later you see him again, maybe in the mall or at a club. The two of you begin talking and he seems like a nice enough person; in fact you enjoy his sense of humor and wouldn't mind seeing him again under the right circumstances. He's different from the others, mainly because the way he talks to you, the way he acts around you, he obviously isn't hitting on you, and obviously values only your friendship, which you are more than willing to give.

You start seeing him regularly, and when you see him at a distance you holler out his name. His company makes things more interesting. His maladroit mannerisms are just the right peg to slide into your ever-expanding group of acquaintances. The two of you call each other, and not infrequently talk for over an hour on the phone. Finally, a decent fellow. A good person. A nice guy.

Slowly things start changing. He shakes more when you're around. He keeps his eyes on you for more than what is usually considered normal for friends. The tone of his voice softens, like a pile of dough. His smile is considerably warmer. When you show up, his back twists automatically to block away any other figure with a vagina, and he fixes his attention on you. Other women become shadows, and you're the only clear figure in the room. At the same time, he starts ignoring you more. He'll walk by, pretending to not see you, not out of malice, but because his fears are getting the best of him and he doesn't want to tell you the truth. The truth is, he has a long list of female "pals", and he no longer wants that. He wants something more. Something he hopes you can give him, something you couldn't possibly give him. While you're valuing his friendship, he slowly slides more and more stone under your feet, raising you higher and higher until you're teetering on this impossible pedestal.

By this time you're wondering why things are so different, as he still hasn't worked up the courage to tell you how he feels. He waits...getting sicker and sicker each time, building up a personal inventory of "moments" that he imagines he's having with you. You walk in the room, and he either pounds down a drink or bolts out to light his cigarette. All the while months pass by, and people who are more forward with their thoughts come to you and express an interest, and sometimes you feel a spark with someone. Finally, many months after the fact, he blurts it out, and you tell him that you're not really interested, because you see him more as a friend, and that while any girl would be lucky to have him, the two of you just couldn't work. Suddenly, you plummet down from being an angel to being a vicious, cold, no-good lousy cunt. He's still nice to you, but in private he curses you and wishes that every single relationship you have goes to hell. He savors nothing more than finding out that you fell for someone and that they fucked you over. You see, in his mind, no one could treat you the way he could. No one could love you as much as he could. You are obviously unlovable, so you really should be thankful that someone as wonderful as him was interested in you to begin with.

The nice guy is the worst kind of parasite imaginable. He earns your friendship only to suck on whatever you have to give him, emotionally or even physically (depending on the circumstances, an over-analyzed kiss may occur). He's never satisfied, never straightforward. If he could he'd shower you with gifts, subconsciously trying to buy your love. They chop off their own legs to crawl to you, sobbing and clawing at your heart. If you're fucked up in the head, that's even better. They'll be whatever they can for you; friend, father, therapist, conscience, anything except a real person. A vacuum cleaner hiding being a gallery of masks. An insecure, stuttering, bitter piece of shit. Worse of all, he'll openly admit this to you, thinking that honestly admitting that he's a fuck up will somehow endear him to you. He won't bother trying to defend himself, because deep down, he knows every criticism flung at him is true. You can't chop off his balls and hand them to him because he's holding the knife and already has a handful of questionable manhood.

You wanna know how to immediately spot a loser? This phrase; "Oh, do you know so-and-so? He's such a nice guy."


cherrybomb said...

Well, they can't all be dicks like Clark Kent.

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