From the MixTape: Part I

Unemployed Drunk Driver by Country Death

Need to get me a girl that don't want nothing to do with me. 

She'd have short hair, blue eyes, red shoes, and tight jeans. 

I create and turn down imaginary corporate sponsorships offers in my head.

Back when we were together and I had the chance, 

I wish I would have cheated on my ex-girlfriend. 

I spend my mornings trying to not start drinkin till the evening. 

Usually around two or mid-afternoon, I end up failing.

Spend too much time thinking about suicide and sex. 

Always lost in indecision. 

Always wondering which one I should pursue next. 

To depressed about being unemployed to look for a job. 

I spent too much time in the shower and I sleep too late and my bed's unmade. 

Aint left the house in four days, and I don't think that I'll change. 

Yeah, I'll just continue to hate myself for being this way. 

I aint a serial killer, but I am a drunk driver. 

A loser and a boozer and crier and a liar. 

A drug abuser and a truth confuser.

Aint no one stupider than me. 

Maybe I'm lazy or maybe I'm crazy or maybe I hate me.

It's all kinda hazy.

Am I clinically depressed or chronically disappointed?

When I'm around people, I tend to think that they're annoying. 

When it's just me, I get so lonely

and I dream my morbid dreams.

Gotta get me a girl that don't want nothing to do with me. 
more Country Death

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Boobie Trap

Tonight, Micheal found out that a girl he's been hot for is getting breast implants. As I broke the unfortunate news, his face lost all expression short of misery. You could tell that he was physically and emotionally disgusted by the news, and it was obviously visible in his body language. His verbal response was the best part, though.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" He shouted. "That's a travesty, man. She's so fucking beautiful. So perfect. What a waste! It's over between us. 

"It never even started, Mike." I responded. 

"Even worse." He said. 

His eyes glossed over and you could tell that his thoughts were breaching the damn of composure. Then he lets loose. 

"Chicks with fake boobs look like transvestites to me. I'm not kidding when I say that. I literally have a hard time telling the difference between them. What does she plan to accomplish by getting those things? Breast implants don't attract men with triple digit IQ's. There's no way she'll spark the interest of any progressive or creative types. Namely, guys like me. And the fact that she's probably content with that...it makes me sick! What kind of guy is she gonna snag lugging around a couple of saline-filled water balloons? I'll tell you what kind. A brain-dead ape who thinks spray-tan is manly, and believes it's only date rape if she's sober enough to say no. If she's lucky, she'll become a trophy wife of a closeted homosexual. At worst, she'll end up with a doctor who needs an emotional punching bag. Regardless of what happens, I'm one-hundred percent certain that she'll end up in a loveless marriage. 

His tone was obviously tongue-in-cheek, but there was a bit of sincerity amidst his ramblings. So, I pushed the issue. That's a little bit extreme; don't you think?

He responds with even more fervor than before. 

"My little sister is incredibly beautiful in every way, but she has one crucial character flaw. She is oblivious to her own worth and beauty."

Mike takes a deep breath and continues.

"We live in a culture that glorifies ignorant talentless whores. There have been two generations born into this pop-culture factory-farm for women. These girls were bred and raised behind walls constructed from reality television and gossip magazines. They were told to bleach their assholes and wax their cunts and that a vagina is the most useful tool a woman possesses, not a brain. I don't whole-heartily condemn the girls who veraciously consumed the tainted provisions of media deception. They were hungry, and they feasted on what was given to them. Images of photo-shopped trollops swarmed around their head like flies on a rotting corpse. Suddenly, mindless sluts were considered the epitome of womanhood, and for whatever reason, my sister bought into it. I rest most of the blame on Brittany Spears, Paris Hilton, and the Kardashians. But most of all, I blame the media that glorified them. "

He pauses and looks down in defeat. 

"I still remember how it felt when she told me that she was having the surgery: utter and absolute helplessness. I told her how beautiful she was, and that it was a ridiculous notion. I was literally trying to scream some sense into her. She didn't listen, and there was no stopping her. I'm still disappointed and hurt that she didn't listen to me. Now, she is perceived as more of an object than a woman, and her clownishly over-sized boobs have caused more difficulty than improvement. The surgery bills had already been sent to collections before she lost her job at the strip club. Even before her unemployment, every girl in town was repulsed by her. Eventually, even her close friends became alienated. 

Mike stops talking. He looks really upset at this point, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, but I had to know. "What is she doing now?" I asked. 

"She's a recluse with back troubles who can't breast feed her own children if she wanted to. Her breasts sag like sandbags and rest just above her belly-button. She just had her second child, and she probably will never have enough money to fix them. As of now , she lives with her husband and kids in The Starelite Trailer Court on the south side of town. 

"The one off the bypass?" I ask.

"Yeah." he whispers with a sigh.
My mouth dropped and my eyes widened. In a tone riddled with pity, I simply responded, "Oh my God."

He closes his eyes, bites his lower lip, and nods his head in agreement. 

He looks up at me and starts again. 

"Worst of all, her husband considers her more of a possession than a companion, and he discourages any attempt she makes to contact me. So, I'm sorry if I'm a little over-passionate about the subject, but it's an extremely personal issue."

I don't know a lot about Mike, but I know he has a lot of hatred and anger built up inside of him. Especially towards women. As our friendship progresses, I get closer and closer to understanding why he feels the way he does. I sympathize for him. I really do. I just hope my empathy is the end of my understanding. Because, I never want to be miserable enough to actually relate to this guy. 

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The Birth of Micheal

Mike stared at the ceiling in his bedroom, and thought about life until his gut hurt. He'd experienced this type of pain for so long that it had actually become a bit orgasmic. There was a morbid attachment to these feelings and the endorphins that accompanied them. The floor of his house was littered with trash, and the bathroom was a bio-hazard. He hadn't left the bed in four months, minus the time spent working and drinking. It was a perfect balance of oblivion and falsity. For him, existence had become a myth. Mike always went to the same store to pick up his beer, and he always had the same clerk. It was the type of depressing monotony that would lead the average man to suicide, but not Mike. Sure, he was incredibly incapacitated, and at best, a functioning alcoholic.

Strangely enough, the thought of ending it never crossed his mind. The alcohol released a chemical mirth that seemed to make life tolerable, and it satiated his need for companionship. Today was different, though. Lying in bed, Mike was exceptionally lonely, and he didn't want to drown his feelings anymore. His eyes were heavy, and he finally submitted to the exhaustion brought on by hard drinking and clinical depression. With eyes clenched tight, he pressed through every desire to escape until he was numb. The water broke, and tears fell until the well was dry. Contractions came as pains in his stomach and muscles. No doubt, brought on by atrophy and cortisone. Huddled in fetal position, he tossed and turned as he struggled to escape the womb of darkness. He realized he had lost everything, and he didn't want it back. Finally, on Dec. 19th, he was born again without fear or needs. Mike is a man with two birthdays now: the first of celebration, and the latter of lamentation. Both of which mark his descent from heaven into a cruel world of discovery.
   

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