Few can pinpoint the precise moment when a man becomes emasculated, or far worse, loses the admiration of his girlfriend. Many times it happens between the loss of a job and the refusal to find a new one. Sometimes, it’s the general lack of sexual satisfaction accompanied by the unwillingness to perform oral sex. And in some cases, it’s the inability to make important decisions until after the PlayStation 3 is turned off. All of the prior situations indeed contributed to the demise of the lovable couple, Chad Stevens and Lana Gander, but it wasn't the main reason. They weren't the straw that rendered the camel lame.
One could say that maybe Chad shouldn't have drunk so many beer cocktails that night. The combination of beer and hard liquor back to back never provides a happy ending. Either you wake up with your face pasted with puke on the bathroom floor next to your toilet or end up having your wounds cleaned in the ER because your drunken mouth felt it needed to have the last word. Yes, both situations can occur, just ask Chad. But none of these inconveniences compared to the tragedy of losing his beloved Lana. Till this day you can find Chad in some slummy bar getting shitfaced, drink after drink. He turns to you and asks, “How could this happen to me?”
Somehow you become clairvoyant and respond, “It was your decision to go to that football game. She never even liked football. She let you drag her there but she secretly despised you for it.” Chad thinks for a moment and realizes that you're right. He remembers how he would change the channel to Monday Night Football on ABC without even asking if Lana was watching the television. She was. Her favorite documentary series came on at the same hour. But hey, having one television sucks. Also, the gift he gave her for their first anniversary comes to mind: season tickets for the Seattle Seahawks. Chad just assumed that since his girlfriend never complained about the obsessive following of football that it meant that she liked the sport. See, Chad is an idiot.
You don't need Chad to tell you what happened that ill-fated night because your powers haven't worn off, but let him have his moment. He's still somewhat coherent. He tells you that after the game his favorite football player, Lance Mitchell was signing autographs and Chad refused to leave until he had words with him. Lance had announced a few days prior that he was retiring from the sport simply because it wasn't fun for him anymore. At this point, I am going to advise that you don't listen to Chad because he won't tell you the truth.
Chad had an unhealthy obsession with Lance. He kept a scrapbook of newspaper clippings, football cards, pictures, and about anything he could find about Lance. One of the pictures was a shot that Lance did for Playgirl magazine while still attending the University of Washington. It wasn't a nude picture, but Lance appeared shirtless wearing a pair of extra tight underwear that left nothing to the imagination. Every once in a while, when conventional hetero porn didn't do the trick, Chad would use that picture to help release his tension. I'll let Chad take it from here.
Mister Lush himself, Chad tells you that when he saw Lance he began to run towards him, pushing poor Lana out of the way. She hit the floor hard. A group of boys rushed in front of Chad to meet with the legend. Sweeping push. The children hit the floor hard. Scantily-clad groupies slid in Chad's way, showing cleavage and mouthing the words of their hotel and room numbers. Sweeping kick. They hit the floor hard. Chad was merely a few feet away from having his confrontation with Lance, the athlete whose early retirement news was devastating. The only thing that separated Chad from his goal was a mountain range of burly bodyguards. The tequila and Corona beer told him that he could easily jump over the towering group of hired security. So, he jumped. Alcohol has a funny way of both lying to you and making you tell the truth.
Lana watched the jump as she got up from the floor. It looked promising at first, but was quickly interrupted by a two-handed catch by a walking monument of a man. The catch turned into a body slam. That time, Chad hit the floor hard. The other security men got ready to assist in the take down.
“Nah, I got this, men.” Goliath Everest said.
Goliath proceeded to bring Chad back to his feet. He then picked Chad up by the neck with one hand and used his abdomen as a punching bag with the other. Lana watched the look of pain in her boyfriend's eyes. A look like that would trouble an innocent bystander that had nothing to do with Chad. But the look had a different reaction in Lana. Her eyes moved over the thick bulky arms of Mr. Everest, his smooth dark skin, the collection of sweat beads on his forehead, and the bursts of air escaping from his full lips as he exhaled with every punch. She couldn't help but mutter the words “kick his ass” as the gladiator made mincemeat out of her boyfriend. It could have been the years of frustration that caused Lana to be disloyal to Chad, but I would say something else had to be the reason. While Chad lay in the hospital, recovering from his injuries, Lana hid herself in the hospital's public restroom, touching herself as she reminisced about the brutal attack. See, Lana is a sociopath.
“And she fucking left me! For the asshole who beat the shit out of me!” Chad tells you, for him it's the clincher, but for you it goes without saying. Your randomly acquired abilities forced you to watch Lana masturbate to the memory of the juggernaut pounding her boyfriend's internal organs into paste. You say while handing the bartender a 2-dollar bill, “Have another shot on me, Chad. And one for me too, please.”
“Dude, I don't know how they met. I don't know... but they sent me home from the hospital with strict instructions.... for Lana to keep an eye on me... and make sure I took my meds. SHEEEE left me in front of the TV with my meds on the coffee table with a cup of water! I could barely move to pick up the damn cup! But, she was too fucking busy running around with that guy. Yeah, I love you too, bitch.”
As Brad hiccups uncontrollably, your receive a vision of Lana's infidelity. Lana asked around the groupie circuit to find out where Lance Mitchell's security hung out. Finally, one of the ladies informed Lana that Goliath did some security work at Larry's, a seedy hip-hop club whose liquor license was soon to be revoked. When she entered the line, she saw Goliath do a dream-shattering kick to the balls of an all too anxious club-goer who didn't know when to shut up. With the victim curled up on the ground just a few feet in front of her, Lana fell in sick lust again. It doesn't matter what was said to whom but Lana and Goliath ended up having rough sex in the club's filthy restroom.
But really, why did she betray Chad so coldly? He wasn't that bad.
“Yeah, why did she fucking leave me? How could she do this to me? We were together since high school. HIGHHHH SCHOOOOL!”
The same question echoes through your mind. How could a seemingly content couple end in such an exaggerated fashion? It's important to consider who exactly we're talking about here. Brad is the hopeless dope who neglected his girlfriend for the love of pigskin and Lance Mitchell. Lana is the ticking time bomb of sexual destruction who left Chad for the man who severely beat him and sometimes works for the aforementioned athlete. It was the mundane nature of Lana and Chad's relationship that frustrated Lana but kept her psychotic tendencies at bay. She no longer wanted to be boring, incompetent, and normal anymore. Although ripe with passion, her new relationship with Goliath will put the lives of many in danger. Chad didn't want anything to do with murder; he was too busy killing himself with alcohol.
When you consider the causes of a breakup, it's almost more important to accept the fact that some relationships aren't meant to continue. It doesn't matter that what the other person wants isn't exactly the best for him or her, especially if they end up going for it anyway. They usually do. It is best to go through the emotions of a breakup and make sure that they lead you to a better place.
You finish listening to my narrative lecture and turn to your intoxicated buddy. “You got that, Chad?”
Chad is slumped over the bar counter, snoring and drooling.
“You'll get it one day, Chad. Soon enough.”