The Change – by Chad Robuckle

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Yeah yeah yeah, I know you’re glad I’m back.

I had to lay low for a while after my appearance on Dateline, but I am happy to announce that the city of Long Beach has dropped all charges against me! Lesson learned!

(If by “lesson learned” you mean “don’t pick up 15 year olds on the internet unless you know they’re real 15 year olds.”)

Anyway, I was going through his computer looking for his social security number when I realized dipshit left himself logged in to his blog, so rather than have him bore you to death with some jackass “comedy” story, I figured ol’ Chad would grace your pathetic lives with an update.

Basically, my life is shit. Why? Because my bitch girlfriend, Kelsey, is going through menopause.

Menopause!

I mean, what the fuck, right?

The best part is she keeps lying about it and telling me that 23 year olds can’t go through menopause. Probably cuz she thinks I’ll leave her ass if it’s true.

Yeah, just as soon as menopause causes your huge inheritance to dry up.

Speaking of dry, that’s what first tipped me off.

Sometimes when I’m banging her, it’s like jammin’ my wang into a glove made out of sandpaper.

She claims it’s because my verbal and emotional abuse doesn’t get her in the mood, but I doubt that. Chicks love that shit, trust me.

Plus, I’m drunk and I just got done cheating on her, I’m not gonna be all looking to make out and do sweet talk and whatever the hell it is you do when you’re not Chad Robuckle and you want to have sex.

So that was strike one. I mean, I watch TV, I know what they say in those commercials. Which leads me to my second sign that she’s got menopause: irritability.

The other night, I told her to go to Subway and get me a footlong and she started whining about how it was 3 am and she was tired and blah blah blah.

Look, I’m not saying I would have done it for her. Recently, she’s put on some weight and frankly doesn’t need to be stuffing her face late at night. But c’mon, it’s not a big deal to go get me a sandwich. The Subway down the street is open 24 hours a day. The one by the bus station where that girl got murdered by those transients late at night.

I started poking her and turning the lights on and off, but she wouldn’t budge.

Then, not only did she not get me my meatball sub, she wanted to talk about how I don’t respect her or something. If I didn’t respect her, would I have put a pillow over my head and gone back to sleep? I didn’t make you get the goddam sandwich, so shut the hell up already.

A relationship is based on being partners and stuff, it’s not based on being a bitch.

So this brings me to my third clue.

If you’ve watched those ads where some old broad with grey hair starts whining about her hot flashes, you have a window into my world, lately.

Kelly will not shut up about how hot she is every night.

Jesus Christ, I’m sorry I’m not a bizallionaire like your douchebag dad. Not everybody can afford to have air conditioning in their bedroom closets.

It’s plenty cool in bed, so maybe if she would get over her menopause, I’d let her sleep there with me, but since she won’t shut up about how hot it is, I’m not about to let her out and have her ruin my night too.

So that, in a nutshell, is my life.

Just my luck, eh? I manage to pick the one 23 year old super rich hotel heiress with menopause. Nothing ever goes right for me.

Alright fruits, I’m out of here. I’m gonna go hit up some terrorism chat rooms using dickwad’s login name and then call the feds on him. That’ll be hilarious!

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10 comments

  1. Have you considered antidepressants (thet’re for her, not you)? That’s how I keeps MY bitches in line. Just drop a couple Paxil in her Sushi, and she’ll behave..she’ll behave. It really keeps that vocal modulation in check, too-no yelling here (sometimes she’ll mumble a little, but who really gives a fuck what she has to say, anyway). As for the vaginal dryness, well, it won’t really do you any favors in that area, so I just “pour on the Wessonality”, and it’s off to the races. And if you don’t want to spend any of your hard-earned money on drugs YOU won’t be taking, just steal some from a neighborhood kid. Just look for the bumber stickers that say “My child is an honor student at..”, and wait for them to leave. I can assure you the medicine cabinet will be chock full o’goodness.

    Pip, Pip.

  2. I tried that, believe me, I tried. She claims her doctor says she can’t take any medication like that now. I’m not sure why now all of a sudden it’s off limits. She was saying something, but like usual, I wasn’t listening too good.
    – Chad

  3. Listen Chad, you’ve tried verbal abuse, you’ve tried emotional abuse. These are obviously not putting her in the mood you think she should be in. And if you’re anything like me bro, you gotta get that sweet poon pelt on a nightly basis. It’s time to step it up Pussy! Two words bro. PHYSICAL VIOLENCE.

    Punch her in the cervical plexus. It’s the area around the top of her spine. It’s great because no matter how much you hit it, it barely bruises or swells up. Also, over time it could create serious spinal and nerve damage. She wont be able to run away as fast(or at all), and she will be so terrified at even the mention of your name, she will do whatever you want in bed! If you don’t be a little bitch and take my advice, then YOU can give her YOUR meatball sub anytime you want!

  4. True story:

    This morning my phone rang. It was my fiancee’s mother. Turns out Penny–who had gone home to Harrisburg to visit her ailing father–was using a damp sponge to wipe down the inside of the deep freezer her parents use to store deer meat out in the garage, and was electrocuted. She is dead. My fiancee is fucking DEAD.

    Needless to say, it was looking like the start of a pretty lousy day.

    But then I read your story, Chad, and I said to myself “It could be worse, dude. Penny could’ve been lousy in “the sack” when she was alive, with a dry box and whatnot.”

    I realized that I should consider myself lucky. I’m like the guy from the Bible who complains about having no shoes and then I see you not only with no FEET, but with “blueballs” too, which is even worse!

    Rock on, Chad, and Godbless!

  5. I can tolerate a dry box, but a dry Whatnot? That’s the line. Last time i went to one of their shows, there wasn’t a dry Whatnot in the house. Happy Mother’s Day!

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