ESTANISLAO CONTRERAS

I am committing suicide with my vice-ridden life, but a woman is responsible for my slow demise. She is like a cancer that goes into remission and then upon my next visit to the psychiatrist I discover that the disease has metastasized. The doctor increases my medication. He comments that my condition is terminal, but the meds will allow me a few more months or years of life.

She infected the marrow in my bones and the matter in my brain. I am imploding. When I hear and read about women complaining that their men are abusing them, I ask myself if these gals are at fault and then act surprised when their ex-lovers want to drag them over the edge and into the abyss with them.

I have never known a more vicious animal than the human female. They will lure you into their webs or lairs. After they have sucked you dry with the calculated way they give their loose bodies, they fill you with their venom and laugh at you as their poisons consume you while they turn their attention to their next victims.

There are days I don't want to rise from bed. There are other days I don't leave my room. She tortures and torments me 24/7/365. I avoid booze and pot when I'm in these dark moods. They only exacerbate my depression and fill my mind with suicidal thoughts.

I have wronged many women. I have never physically abused anyone, but I have punished them psychologically when dealing with them on a daily basis was a concatenation combination of disappointment and disenchantment. For my dastardly deeds my karma is exacting its pound of flesh.

When it came to her, I just wanted her flesh. I didn't need anyone to wash or clean or cook for me. I could take care of myself as well as contribute financially to assure we lived comfortable lives materialistically.

"All you have to do is fuck me!" I would tell her time and time again.

And time and time again she couldn't do it. She would treat me like a beggar at the bridge, occasionally throwing a coin in my can with an indifferent arrogance that she had more than done her duty.

While she would wound and scar me with tales about her many past lovers and their prowess in the sack or in the back seat of a car or on the floor of a closet or up against a wall or on a desk in an office, she would huff during intercourse, "Hurry up! You bore me. Sex used to be exciting!"

Women are shocked when they come down with a venereal disease, which gives them the convenient excuse for which they have been searching to cheat on their spouses.

The problem with being madly in love is the final act: You are reduced to a mad man stumbling blindly from day to day while she jumps from bed to bed. She doesn't deceive herself with hope. Sex is strictly her dope.

In Spanish they say that one nail drives out another nail. Why hasn't fate been kind enough to deliver me a hammer and nail so I can deliver myself from this anguish? Will I never escape this purgatory or have I been condemned to hell?

When I hear that an enraged husband has shot and killed his unfaithful wife, I recall from my readings in the Old Testament that God raised no protest as the adulteress was stoned to death. How can a woman look at herself in the mirror and call herself a mother when she has spent her entire life giving herself so easily to so many men on so many occasions?

I have heard many ladies complain about the double-standard in regards to sex, but it's the law of the jungle that the beast will have the last say and the beauty must abide by these dictates or accept that she is little more than a prostitute exploiting men to improve her economic status.

Last week I saw her with another man at a popular restaurant. I was drunk. Seeing only red, I stopped at their table and spewed, "Do you know how many trains have sped through this tunnel? You may think you are the engineer, mi amigo, but you're barely hanging on to the caboose.

"Don't be surprised if you're dumped at the next station because there is no man on earth who can shovel enough coal into this furnace. Her fire is a desire that never stops burning. She is death and she has no pity for the scores of corpses she has left in her wake."

My only consolation is that she will pay. She is paying for her promiscuous past with HPV. The truly evil persons don't escape unscathed. They quickly grow old and their last years are endured in a bitter cold.