Jack Tait is blessed and horny.

Jack Tait is pissed.  he is angrier than usual and that usual is more angry than the usual guy.  usual girl.  he wants to succeed.  he wants to love.  he wants to play.  he wants to fuck.  BUT HE CAN’T.  women shun him.  men shun him.  cops abuse him.  bosses toy with him.  JACK TAIT IS FUCKED AND HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.  every fucking girl he meets is either on the rag…bitchy.  about to go on the rag…really bitchy.  or just finished the rag…really really bitchy.  he wonders why he attracts such cunts but then remembers that he was a cunt when he was younger.  a handsome fucked up and horny cunt.  Jack Tait wonders if girls from Africa and Sweden are as cunty and bitchy as girls from Canada are.  he sits and wonders.  he is red.  red from booze.  red from sun.  red from anger.  he takes a sip of red wine and touches his red penis.  if all the cunts in the world are cunts then he will have to satisfy himself by stroking his big uncircumsized penis and blowing on his hairy balls.  Jack Tait is a handy man.  a very good handy man.  he once taught a masturbation class at George Brown College but then decided that fucking the twenty one year old hotties was much better than stroking his big penis thinking of fucking the twenty one year old hotties.  Jack Tait is a smart man.  so Jack gave up his teaching career and focused on what he loved to do.  drink.
  now Jack is pissed.  drunk and mad.  “why is the English language filled with words that mean two things?”  Jack Tait has spoken.  Jack Tait reads books.  he watches movies.  old ones because the new ones suck.  he jerks off and runs and even bowls on occassion.  Jack Tait is restless.  mad.  drunk.  horny.  tired.  he knows that life is meant to explore and learn but he also knows that it just doesn’t work that way.  the reality for Jack is that he conforms to shitty rules.  he eats shitty food.  he fucks shitty girls.  he needs another glass of wine.  he gets up and attacks the bottle.  horniness has subsided but rage is just lurking beneath the surface.  Jack Tait is confused.  he is old.  he is confused.  he looks at the sky and sees grey.  always grey.  always cold.  Jack Tait walks.  he walks.  he walks.  and then he walks some more.  he thinks he is bipolar but he is just not loved.  death will help him but he cannot kill himself.  he tries and tries but remains alive and awake.
  Jack Tait makes a list of all the people he has harmed over the years and begins to cry.  he has hurt a lot of people but then a lot of people have hurt him.  he thinks of all the boring people who never cry.  never fuck.  never get drunk.  never jerk off.  never scream.  he continues on his list.  he continues to cry.  women are surrounding him and tampons are calling his name.  there are thirty days in a month.  Jack Tait goes back to his book.  he is sixty years old and is afraid to go to sleep.  he doesn’t want to die.  Michael Jackson must have been really depressed.  or really guilty.  or both.  “celebrity worshippers are women and they are probably on the rag and they should all take a bus to Keswick.”  Jack Tait had a spurt of energy.  he now lies sideways and naked.  he is on his neighbour’s front lawn.  he didn’t have much to say but then nobody listens anyway.  he is drunk and depressed.  he takes a deep breath and smells sap.  maybe pinecombs.  Jack Tait has finally lost it.  horny.  always horny.  Jack spins his wheels and goes back to bed.  naked.  alone.  drunk.  “could this be number one hundred and fifty two???”  Jack Tait has a good memory.  he falls down and does not wake up.  poor Jack Tait.
  Jack wakes up a new man.  he is alive and ready to conquer the world.  he listens to Mumford and Sons and drinks coffee.  LOTS OF COFFEE.  he thinks today is the day that everything will work out.  LIFE IS UNPREDICTABLE.  someone will die today.  someone will cry today.  someone will fly today.  someone will…Jack sits down again.  he almost made it outside.  he looks through the peephole of his door and sees emptiness.  now he is jumping up and down.  “HEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!”  Jack Tait doesn’t have anyone to help him.  he never did.  he hammers himself with a hammer and starts spitting blood into his coffee.  Jack Tait is fucked.  he knows it.  his former friends know it too.  USA.  USA.  USA.  USA.  USA.  USA.  He now falls back down and looks to the sky but his shitty ceiling filled with blood stains and cum stains get in his way.  always in his way.  Jack just wants to die but he can’t.  LIFE IS HELL.  LIFE IS TORTURE.  Jack smiles as he sings a beautiful song.  music solves everything.  Jack is happy again.  he takes a big runny shit and grabs a beer and sits on his shitty torn purple reclining chair and enjoys his time alone.  he closes his eyes and thinks of all the women who are walking around today with blood gushing out of them.  in pain.  sad.  lonely.  lost.  looking for love.  always looking for love.