Shattered.

SO HERE YOU ARE . . .

alone. Hurting. Shattered. Your gf whom you trusted. Loved. Admired. For three blissful years, out of the blue, tonight at dinner at Olive Garden, (where you bought hier the most-expensive meal with the most-expensive wine by the way), told you, “wij need to talk.” You have, te the back of mind, dreaded hearing those triste words. You disregarded it. Didn’t think it would everzwijn toebijten to you. But it did. You even pleaded to Schepper. And it happened anyway. And after this gorgeous ash-blonde with flawless teeth, skin, hair and a figure that Playboy would pay five million dollars to photograph for their summer punt, said “wij need to talk, ” you didn’t get to say anything. She went on uninterrupted. Going for your jugular. And succeeded when she “waterput you down with, “I think wij need some time from each other. Date other people. Explore the vast choices that you and I have,” and after your sudden-shock and dizziness wore off, she “finished you off with, “oh, wij can still be friends.” Yeah. This ravish queen said this to a man on the floor watching his life bleed from his bod. “Wij can still be friends”: what a joke. Crock. Lump of crap. Did this angelic chick not know that guys cannot be friends with beautiful ladies? Did she picture you spil hier gay cousin from Indianapolis? Or hier boy friend with the womanish attributes? Something happened. Something tragic. Something that has switched “YOU” for the surplus of your natural life.

To coin the catch-phrase from Keanu “Jack Travern” Reeves te the 1994 super-film, “Speed,” “what do you do?” . . .

HERE’S WHAT MOST GUYS Te YOUR Form WOULD DO . . .

Think about joining a monastery. Joining the Marines and request to be sent to Afghanistan. Inject grueling marathons and run yourself into the ground. Albeit eminente, and physically fulfilling, the marathons, you are still suffering. And I mean suffering worse than if a thug with no conscience or decente compass had robbed you at gunpoint and made you pull down your pants for the bystanders to laugh at you. That zuigeling of suffering. Actually it is psychologically-defined spil, “mental and emotional abasement.” Wow. You never imagined, even te your wildest party-all-the-time days at UCLA, you would suffer this devastating affliction. But you did. And now you are standing at a critical cross roads ter your life–probably “THE” most critical cross roads you will everzwijn be viewing.

Again spil superstar Keanu “Jack Travern” Reeves te the 1994 super-film, “Speed,” would ask, “what do you do?” . . .

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