There’s not a lot in this life that shuts me up.

A gun in my face at two in the morning?  Sure.

“Pretty Pat” thinkin I fucked him over for an eight-ball of meth?  Why not.

Dyeing in a cubicle?  Of course.

But nothing shuts me up more than you broads.

Maybe it was an overbearing mother.  Maybe it was because my first solid girlfriend used to beat me the fuck up (shut your goddamn giggles up.  I don’t hit girls).  Maybe it’s just that I’m putty in in a woman’s hands; always have been, always will be.

But to get down to the nitty gritty, I’m really starting to think that it’s the goddamn fact that I can’t let myself be open; ever.

Sure, you all think, “he’s playing the tough guy!  It’s just an act!”  Well fuck you and the horse you fucked on the way into my blog. 

I’m being honest. 

For some reason, I can’t do it.  To let all of my blocks down, to let everything I know about fear and pain and disappointment just fly away because some broad might think that I’m alright is unfathomable.

And yeah, I got a piece of shit self esteem; I’m a hulking brute of a man.  For Christ’s sake, I look in the mirror every morning and see a 280 pound gorilla, but honestly, there’s no goddamn way I could let myself go and trust anyone like any normal man does when he finds a broad.

So I just take my disappointment, squeeze it into a little ball, shove it deep into my soul and let it go when it’s appropriate.

Jesus Christ, they don’t make ‘em like me anymore.