Monday, October 22, 2007

(The Ballad of Richard Nixon (302)

He was a sad, sad person. He didn’t know how to clear his internet history, so I was able to read all of his Craig’s List entries in which he called himself “punk and a gentleman.”
I would imagine he thought he was punk because of the recent discovery or The Cure, or the one time he painted his nails black. 
Keep in mind, I was not a snooper. I have the highest respect for a person’s privacy, but I also see this as a two-way street.  Many times I would return home to find things missing from my room and obviously tampered with. He would do all these things, then just stroll around, or at least, slink around as if nothing was wrong.
When he was away, I took a look in his notebook as revenge for him constantly going through my things. I wish I hadn’t.
He kept handwritten records of every text message he’d every received, then favored each entry with a note… he kept text message commentary. To top it all off, he drew a nice little shadowed box around each entry so it looked like the message was COMING RIGHT AT YOU!!
It was hard to believe that I had loved this person once. Now, in hindsight, I was lame by association. People had made fun of him, and I’d defended because he was my friend. Now, for some reason, he was “tough and no nonsense”. He was, like so many other un informed mama’s boy’s before him, confusing being a dick with being manly.
Sometimes I’d hear him yelling about his nonsensical philosophy outside my window in the middle of the night, and my anger would turn into pity.
The world was going to destroy this guy.
Maybe, when he moved to L.A. to be an actor, he’d get to do the high priced gay porn, and not just the raunchy bottom shelf stuff.
Honestly, though, he was too old for either.
Again, I can’t believe I once loved this guy.
What a dick.


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