Metal City - Hai Ina Ia Mai Ana Ka Puana

Scared Single.

Here's another thing that's getting on my nerves lately. Predatory, lizard-lipped women seem to be swooping down left and right and are dragging my soldiers away to new, terrifying picket-fence lives.

Yeah, you know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the Big R. Relationships.

People in relationships are always smug. There's a completely simple reason for this - and don't you go thinking it has anything to do with 'love' or 'contentment' or any hippie shit like that. The reason that people in relationships suddenly develop the world's broadest shit-eating grins is that when they're sitting in front of the wireless of an evening, and they start to feel that rumble in their trousers when an AAMI commercial plays, they don't have to scuttle away to their lairs like horny sea snakes. They simply have to turn to their significant other, grab their crotch, and yell 'How's about some of this, then?' Invariably, their needs will be serviced, and they won't have to waste time trying to get the damned internet to work properly in their pursuit of pornography - leaving them with plenty of latitude to finish watching T.V.

Smug wankers.

After all, every relationship in the world is phoney. We are not meant to like anyone as much as people profess to. Listen, I know a lot of people in 'relationships' at the moment - and the one thing none of them are willing to admit is that, deep down, they like a whole lot of other things a lot more than their partner. Like their T.V, for instance. Or the unopened bag of Twisties that's in the pantry. The difference is, you can't fuck either of these things.

My mother has been on this rap as of late. Every time I let my guard down and speak to her in a language that doesn't involve grunting, she starts in on me:

'So, when are YOU going to find a nice girl?'

'I don't want a nice girl.'

'Oh, come on. Yes, you do.'

'No, really. I don't. I hate girls.'

'You're not turning queer, are you?'

'No. I hate everybody. I hate you. Fuck off and leave me alone.'

'Aww. Isn't he cute? So, when are you going to meet a nice girl?'

Variations of this take place until I can stand it no more, and I roundhouse kick her in the face with knives strapped to my foot.

People refuse to believe that not being single is disgusting. They freak out and begin to urinate uncontrollably if you tell them that you'd rather eat mule shit than have to listen to someone yammering in your ear all day and all night about your 'feelings'. Jesus. Shut uuuuuuup. I have known the acid bath of the relationship - and every time, it becomes more and more obvious to me that I should dig a moat around my house and fill it with pirahna-infested diarrhea.

You know those movies from the 80's, where they took a bunch of kids from da ghetto, and they sent them to prison for a day so that a huge guy with a pack of cigarettes in his sleeve could yell at them until they cried? They were called 'Scared Straight', and they were designed to teach da yoof that prison is not cool, yo - no matter what Tupac thinks. I'm gonna produce a video along the same lines, and I'm gonna call it 'Scared Single'. Here's what it'll consist of:

The first scene will involve a broken, pasty-skinned shell of a man, lying in a double bed, weeping because he hasn't watched any decent T.V in twenty years. We'll pull the camera back to reveal his wife shouting at him about her feelings through a megaphone. Then, he'll pull out a revolver, and will shoot himself.

Next, there will be a time-lapse sequence of an awesome house being transformed into Girlfriendland. You will see, over a sped-up one year period, as the dirty calendars, inflatable dolls, rotting bits of pizza on the floor, and piled up slasher/porno flicks on top of the T.V are slowly replaced by attractive drapes, reupholstered couches, photos of inanely grinning family members, and copies of 'Beaches' and 'Steel Magnolias'. The final shot will be of the house exploding in slow motion, a'la 'Zabriskie Point', with the burning symbols of emasculation sailing through the air.

Next, there will be a montage of our 'partner', as he wanders the streets, looking at the things life is denying him. To the tune of 'Everybody Hurts', he will walk past the MCG - as a group of young animals drunkenly stumble past him, vomiting on his shoes. He'll walk sadly past a titty bar, and will wipe a tear from his eye. He'll look up at a theatre marquee showing 'BRUTAL DEATH MASSACRE WITH NUDITY PART VII', and will bump into a crew of gnarly men stumbling out drunkenly, who will vomit down his back.

Then, we will see him eating vegetarian food and drinking non-alcoholic wines, while his girlfriend tells him about how Mandy the new girl at work really doesn't look good with her hair that colour, and blah blah, I don't think much of that, blah blah. He will look out the window at his neighbour, who is in his underwear, flipping a pepper steak on the bar-b-que, while a pair of hot lesbians writhe in a pit of jelly. The neighbour will give him the thumbs up, and he will respond by staring past his wife's head, to the bottles of sleeping tablets that sit in front of the knife rack and the clown photos.

A soft-focus montage will follow, set to 'The Way We Were', as he looks back over his life. The shots will include:

1. His girlfriend yelling at him.

2. His girlfriend pointing at the toilet and yelling at him.

3. His girlfriend hitting him with a rolled up newspaper.

4. An elegant night-shot of him standing in front of a burning steel barrel, with tears running down his face, as his girlfriend throws his dirty books into the flames.

5. A time-lapse shot of his skin visibly aging and his hair turning grey and falling out as he spends every weekend being dragged around the shops.

6. His girlfriend yelling at him some more.

7. Him, sitting atop a craggy mountaintop, like the majestic creature of prey that he is - with the rain lashing his face, and a determined look on his brow - until his girlfriend passes a jar of pickles to him from out of frame and yells at him to open it. When he takes more than two nanoseconds, she hits him with a shovel.

8. His tears, pouring from his eyes, as he watches 'Ghost' again. They are both crying - but obviously for different reasons.

9. Him, crawling across the floor to the toilet and vomiting, after selling himself out for the sex that he thought he so desperately craved. When some puke splashes on the floor, his girlfriend throws a brick at him, which bounces off the back of his head.

10. A long shot of the two of them walking down the street, arm in arm. She runs off to press her face against the glass of a jewellery store, while he pauses - looking up. He is standing in front of a gunsmith's. He smiles to the camera, for the first time, and nods.

The final shot will be framed with monolithic simplicity, in the best Kubrickian mode, as we fill the frame with his crazed, penetrating eyes. We hear him being screamed at to come and listen to his girlfriend talk about her feelings, but instead, he places both barrels of a shotgun in his mouth, and pulls the trigger. Blood and brain splatter across the wall behind him. Cut to black.

CAPTION: UN FILM DU METAL DAVID. CAPTION: FIN

I do this to help - rather than hinder - the happiness of people everywhere.

Dudes get all lame when they're going out with some broad. It's totally pathetic. How many times have you wanted to cut off some moron's head when he gushes about how he 'loves his girlfriend', and how 'she is so perfect for me'. Jesus, how lame. Do you see me saying shit like "I love my xbox so much. It is modded. It is so perfect. I love it."? Of course you don't. I have too much self-respect for such asinine behaviour.

Chicks get freaky when they find out that some dude is willing to sell-out his wiser principles for a slice of poontang, as well. They start referring to their 'Boyfriend' constantly. Holy shit. It drives me up the fucking wall. Ever had a conversation like this?

"So, I went out the other day, and I threw a brick through this dude's window, and -"

"My boyfriend says that the windows in my house are beautiful."

"Uh - yeah. So, anyway - I jumped inside and pulled out my butterfly knife, and -"

"My boyfriend says that I'm beautiful like a butterfly."

"Right. So, I scream out "Everybody get on the fucking floor, or I'll -"

"My boyfriend says that I floored him the first time we met."

"Yeah. Ahuh. So, this guy gave me attitude, so I punched him in the nuts, and -"

"My boyfriend says that his nuts are for me to play with - and nobody else. Tee hee!"

"I see."

And so on, and so on, and so on. It's like, when someone is in a relationship, they have a deep desire to remind you of that fact every fucking second. Every motherfucking thing they say has to revolve around their insignificant other, as though the fact that you've managed to slap your genitals against another living thing is something we should all give a shit about. Fuck you, and fuck your genitals. Nobody cares.

People think that couples are 'cute'.

'Oh, don't they look cute?'

No, they don't fucking look cute. They look doomed. I hate it when people start waxing romantic every time they see a pair of the walking dead shambling down the street, rubbing armpit sweat all over one another. I see a couple, and I don't think 'Aw, ain't that cute?'
I think 'Single file, you selfish cunts. Other people need to use the fucking footpath - and I'm a big fat fuck, so I need more space than usual. Out of the way.'

What these morons fail to realise is that single life is fucking awesome. Not for the world would I give up being single. I don't care that I don't get to thrust my deformed genitals against anything with a pulse - the multitude of other cool things I get to indulge in far outweighs the benefits of your so-called 'orgasm'. For instance, when I go to bed at night, I don't have to be in total silence - or, at best, listening to new-age relation music. I can crank up the stereo and kick out the jams, unconscious-style, to Blue Oyster Cult and Warrant. I can wander around in my semen-encrusted underpants, blowing my nose on my hands and wiping it on the furniture, and nobody's going to stop me. I can vomit on myself and go to bed without a shower with no complaints. I can drive like a moron on the freeway without some nagging voice going 'You're not impressing anyone, you know.'

Endless, endless pleasures - a dizzying cornucopia of sensual delights which overload the brain. And - best of all - they can all be done alone. Yeah, you heard me. Alone. Alone, with a copy of 'Razzle' and some pumping tunes.

So, for 2006, everyone just shut the fuck up about their 'relationships'. Nobody cares. Don't write about 'your boyfriend', don't talk to me about 'your girlfriend', and if at all possible - do the silly dance at the end of a rope. Nobody cares 'how well it's going'. Nobody cares about your pissy little 'anniversaries'. Nobody gives a wet shit about 'your first fight'. Dear god, nobody cares about your sex life. Basically, nobody cares about you - so shut up.

Fuck your relationships. Single life rules.

Posted by David at January 3, 2006 04:23 PM | TrackBack