A Life Spent Thundering Down the Highway to Hell
reverendhornibastard
Depraved Deacon of Degeneracy
I found the on-ramp to the Highway to Hell when I was still in my 20s. Back then I was still poor and still innocent (at least innocent compared to the jaded, been everywhere, done everything beast I am now). I had little appreciation of the emotional wilderness I was about to enter as I took the on-ramp, hit the accelerator and merged into the heavy traffic on the Highway to Hell.
When I look back on my long journey down the road of life, the Highway to Hell was definitely my favorite detour. Looking into my rear view mirror, I am simultaneously amused, ashamed and, above all, astounded that I survived unscathed after my decades of careless, sometimes dangerous, excesses.
Despite it all, I don’t think I deserve full blame (or credit) for my flagrantly excessive lifestyle. I sincerely believe that if they had the same opportunities and wherewithal I enjoyed, most men would have behaved similarly.
If I had to do it all over again, would I change anything? If so, what would I change?
Those are tough questions to answer.
I’ve known a few men who were fastidiously loyal to their spouses. I would like to say I admired them, and I might have admired them if they hadn’t been such boring, timid men so lacking in passion or a sense of adventure. Many of the “straight and narrow Boy Scouts” I knew (a few of them were my close friends) were eventually “rewarded” for their unflinching marital devotion by having their wives dump them and run off with more “exciting” and more “interesting” men.
It was an awful, sad thing to watch.
Not all women are attracted to “bad boys” but a lot of them obviously are.
Mrs. Hornibastard #3’s saintly old mom saw me coming and warned her daughter what kind of man I appeared to be. (I never understood how she saw through me. We hardly even spoke because she only spoke Javanese and I never learned that language.) But Mrs. Hornibastard #3 signed our marriage license application despite her mom’s prescient warnings.
In retrospect, it’s a good thing I spent most of my adult life thundering down the Highway to Hell. If I hadn’t, if I’d been a different sort of man who had traveled a more traditional and safer path, I wouldn’t have arrived where I am today. I wouldn’t have a dirty conscience, a fevered mind full of salacious memories (some of which even I can barely believe now), and I wouldn’t have the wonderful wife I live with now or my fabulous twins.
I don’t know where I would have ended up if I hadn’t followed such a twisted path, but I know I wouldn’t have ended up here.
I’m fucking delighted that life is so unfair.
My drive down the Highway to Hell has been well worth it.
https://www.tuscl.net/photo.php?id=1865
Well, OK, if I had to do it all over again, I might have taken better care of my teeth.
When I look back on my long journey down the road of life, the Highway to Hell was definitely my favorite detour. Looking into my rear view mirror, I am simultaneously amused, ashamed and, above all, astounded that I survived unscathed after my decades of careless, sometimes dangerous, excesses.
Despite it all, I don’t think I deserve full blame (or credit) for my flagrantly excessive lifestyle. I sincerely believe that if they had the same opportunities and wherewithal I enjoyed, most men would have behaved similarly.
If I had to do it all over again, would I change anything? If so, what would I change?
Those are tough questions to answer.
I’ve known a few men who were fastidiously loyal to their spouses. I would like to say I admired them, and I might have admired them if they hadn’t been such boring, timid men so lacking in passion or a sense of adventure. Many of the “straight and narrow Boy Scouts” I knew (a few of them were my close friends) were eventually “rewarded” for their unflinching marital devotion by having their wives dump them and run off with more “exciting” and more “interesting” men.
It was an awful, sad thing to watch.
Not all women are attracted to “bad boys” but a lot of them obviously are.
Mrs. Hornibastard #3’s saintly old mom saw me coming and warned her daughter what kind of man I appeared to be. (I never understood how she saw through me. We hardly even spoke because she only spoke Javanese and I never learned that language.) But Mrs. Hornibastard #3 signed our marriage license application despite her mom’s prescient warnings.
In retrospect, it’s a good thing I spent most of my adult life thundering down the Highway to Hell. If I hadn’t, if I’d been a different sort of man who had traveled a more traditional and safer path, I wouldn’t have arrived where I am today. I wouldn’t have a dirty conscience, a fevered mind full of salacious memories (some of which even I can barely believe now), and I wouldn’t have the wonderful wife I live with now or my fabulous twins.
I don’t know where I would have ended up if I hadn’t followed such a twisted path, but I know I wouldn’t have ended up here.
I’m fucking delighted that life is so unfair.
My drive down the Highway to Hell has been well worth it.
https://www.tuscl.net/photo.php?id=1865
Well, OK, if I had to do it all over again, I might have taken better care of my teeth.
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8 comments
Head out on the highway “
And heavy metal thunder!
Racing with the wind
And the feeling that I’m under.
That’s it! I can’t take it anymore!
I’m gonna go buy me another Harley!
Motorcycles are fun but riding one can be very dangerous. It would be epically bad form for “Daddy” to fall off his Harley and cut his whole body off.
By the time my twins don’t need me around that much anymore I’ll be too fucking old to ride a Harley.
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Shot in the dark, but maybe she had suspicions about her daughter marrying a man more than twice age and leaving her country? 😆
That certainly makes sense. But as a counterpoint, in that culture it is very common for a financially successful man to marry women far younger than he is. And it’s not even necessary for him to divorce his existing wife or wives. A man (rich or poor) is allowed up to four wives at a time.
But because I hardly knew her owing to the language barrier, I really don’t know how or why she came to that conclusion about me.
Mrs. Hornibastard #3 has not offered much by way of explanation of her mother’s opinion of me other than that I looked like a “gigolo.”
The word “gigolo” has been adopted into both the Indonesian and Javanese languages but I’m not sure how its meaning corresponds to its meaning in English.