You sell your color TV. It keeps her off the streets a whole day. You hock your Typewritter for one jolt. Then your shot gun, your watch. A week later you say, "Look, I'm a little short." But she says "No scratch no snatch. You say, "Look it's better to give. " But she says, "Beat off, creep."
One night they spot you on the street in your skivvies trying to sell your shoes. You tell them who you are but they nail you. then she happens by, she says "Christ you look fucked, Hang tough," but you don't say anything. You just think, "What a bum rap for a nice guy like me."
Life is fucked. Sorry to those optimists out there. :(
My sig continues my thoughts.