It seems like just yesterday that the giant dildo arrived into my God forsaken life. I will never forget its arrival; packaged all snug and nice in its bubble wrap (which I was never even able to enjoy). At the time, that throbbing replica of King Kong’s penis was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. Little did I know that King Kong’s dong would just be the start of the most ridiculous relationship ever known to man. I was in love with this girl. I even attempted to put the giant dildo behind me (theoretically speaking). But suddenly, the dildo wasn’t even the problem anymore. It’s what it was being used for.

I’ve been single for about 24 hours now. You’ve read the ridiculous break-up stories from the previous chapters, but those cannot hold a candle to what just happened. If I were to pay Taylor Swift to write a song about my break-up, she would say, “Fuck this!” and walk off. What’s even worse is she asked if we could still be friends. That’s like the guy who just raped you asking you out on a date. It’s about as evil as giving Osama bin Laden frequent flyer miles for 9/11. The sad thing is – I broke up with her.

It all started about one month ago. She came to me, dildo in hand, and told me she wanted to be a cam girl. At this point, the dildo had basically become the equivalent of a teddy bear to a three year-old orphan who had no shot of ever getting adopted. It went everywhere with her. It was torn up, dragged through the mud (you know what I mean), and placed properly under her pillow at night. In her defense, she was very nice about it when she came to me, saying, “I’m going to be a cam girl. I can make good money to add to our successful lifestyle.” But what I heard was, “You know how I love shoving this giant dildo up my vagina? Well, I want to do it in front of tons of lonely, obese men while they unfold their fat rolls in an attempt to find their penis and stroke it before their Oreo craving kicks in.” If you’re unfamiliar with what a cam girl does, you are probably not a guy because they are plastered all over every pornography site on the web. They are the Jehovah’s Witness of pornography. They always pop up when they’re not needed. A cam girl is basically a digital prostitute. Lonely guys pay you to do sexual things to yourself in front of about 800 (average night for her) other lonely guys. In all sense of the matter, cam girls are legal whores. Of course, every bone in my body was against it. When she first told me, my body shook like Michael J. Fox in a bouncy castle. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was as if her dildo had come to life and raped my ears. But being the idiot that I am, I told her that as much as I was against it, I would try my best to support her. Actually, I wasn’t given an option. She was going to do this no matter what. I was very attracted to her persistence. I love a woman who knows what she wants out of life and will stop at nothing to get it. It’s just in this case, that happened to be tons of penises! I’m not an idiot. I knew exactly where this was going to end up. It all starts with being a cam girl. Then some producer invites you to Los Angeles to talk about your future… and by future, he means you sitting on his dick for $200, a promise of a great future with endless opportunities, and a giant slap on the ass before the door hits you on the way out. Even then, I was willing to fight the odds. From the bottom of my disgusting, rotting heart, I tried my best to accept it, but I simply couldn’t. I never want to be the guy who tells someone what they are doing is wrong. I believe everybody has a conscience and should be able to make their own decisions, but that horrible opinion changed when King Kong’s dong suddenly started getting siblings. Every week, a new package arrived with a new sex toy for her “shows.” I was in a living Hell. I would be in the living room hearing her smack her ass as desperate guys tipped her with tokens. Why do they use tokens? This isn’t a mother fucking Chuck-E-Cheese! I never remember going there as a kid and seeing Mr. Munch shove his guitar up Chuck E.’s ass for 5 tokens while I shoved disgusting pizza in my fat face. Needless to say, every night ended in a fight, which lead me to sleeping on the couch. I slept their by choice. The room stunk of whore and lubrication. Yes, lubrication. Using that dildo had to be like trying to shove a hot dog in a pen cap. I was more than happy to sleep on a freshly Febreezed couch with no hint of slut. When I broke down and begged her to stop, she simply looked paused, looked me the eyes, and said, “Get over it.”

After one month, I finally caved. I had become the person I hated. I never understood how a man could date a girl who did pornography. That’s when I realized I wasn’t that man. I still loved her, but I simply could not support it. She had earlier arranged to surprise her mom on Mother’s Day on the other side of the country. I could have been a dick and told her family what she was doing, but I didn’t feel it was my place. If what she was doing was truly wrong, karma will take its toll. Instead, I drove her to the airport after a long fight, hugged her goodbye and drove off. Later than day, she sent me a text telling me she didn’t know if she would be able to face me again and may stay on the west coast where she was from. She said she needed her space. I told her, “I understand. Let me know what you decide.” In reality, I was thinking, “Bitch, you are 2,000 fucking miles away! If I gave you any more space it would contend with your vagina!”

The next day, I took my dog and headed about an hour north to watch the NBA Playoffs with my brother, sister-in-law, and their friends. We played a game where every time somebody dunked the ball we had to take a shot of Vodka. Needless to say, we all took 13 shots in about two and a half hours. My brother is a detective, so we always compete to see who got more trashed using the Breathalyzer. After 13 shots, I blew a .074. My lucky streak had continued as I couldn’t even get shit faced right. About halfway through the night, she tries to call me. I ignored it. She then tried to Facetime with me. I ignored that as well. I then received a text saying, “Let’s make this work.” At this point, my brother and everyone knew everything! They would’ve literally killed me had I agreed to it, which I didn’t have any desire of doing. Being the civil person I am, I wrote her a very brief text message. All it said was, “It’s over.” You would have thought Hell had frozen over. I had missed call after missed call. Finally, after about an hour, she sent me a text message that said, “I can’t believe you dumped over a text! Grow the fuck up! What a slap in the face to me!” At first I was bothered by this because she was right – it was tacky. But after thinking about it, I remained calm, took a deep breath, and simply wrote back, “Get over it.”

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