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The 7even Stages of Relationship Separation (Male Perspective)

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The 7even Stages of Relationship Separation (Male Perspective)

Stage One: HELL YEA

I’m free, and nobody can take that from me. We weren’t meant to be encumbered by another person constantly sucking our will to live. I can eat what I want, do what I want, do who I want, leave the toilet seat up*, leave my clothes on the floor, drink from the [insert beverage name here] carton, and never change my sheets again. I’m calling the guys; we’re going out!

Stage Two: THAT’S COOL

So, Monica is making Dave watch the season finale of Dancing w/ the Stars, and John is watching the kids so Becky can go to interpretational jazz hands class or whatever. All the more reason I am single. That’s cool; I don’t need them to have fun. I can do fun all by myself. I am the captain of this ship.

Stage Three: HOW YOU DOIN

This bar seems vaguely rockin’. Check out the ass on her. Slow down Romeo; we can’t commit too fast, and we haven’t even had a drink yet. [12 drinks later] Bartender…bartender…send a drink to that chick with the nice pooper, will ya? [Stumbles over] How you doin? ;-) You want to dance? Whoa, whoa, whoa…not if I was the last man on Earth, eh? I think you misheard me; I said, “You look fat in those pants.” Oh look the hot dog guy is here. I’m starving.

Stage Four: PARTY AT MY HOUSE

Everyone…EVERYONE! Party at my house! [1 hour later five guys show-up] Where are all the women? Get out of my house you bloody wankers this isn’t a sausage festival! I’m just gonna get high and play my [insert instrument name here]. Fuck you buddy! I will not turn it down, and I don’t care if it is 3 AM on a Thursday!

Stage Five: LISTEN OFFICER

But I was just making music officer. Why do I have to turn it down? Why can’t he just put ear plugs in? No sir, I am not yelling at you, I’m yelling around you. No, that is definitely not marijuana that you smell. No, you may not enter my domicile. Probably what? Oh, probable cause.

Stage Six: NOBODY KNOWS THE TROUBLES I’VE SEEN

I can’t believe I’m in jail for making music! What the literal fuck? What, I’m in here for possession of a controlled substance? You can’t make music without drugs man, good music anyway! Fucking fascists!

Stage Seven: WILL YOU ACCEPT A COLLECT CALL FROM [INSERT NAME HERE]

Baby…baby…please don’t hang-up. I’ve been thinking, and I think we should get back together. Noooooo, I’m not just saying that because I’m in jail, which by the way, I’m in jail. Would you come and bail me out, please?

*After nakedly sitting into a toilet full of urine last evening there is something to be said about putting the toilet seat down (don’t tell me ex I said this).

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