The feeling lingers, in which I’ve deduced, that many of you are incapable of responding to chivalry. There is no hidden fee attached to my generosity, no fineprint, nothing to gain except your weaseled smile and my feeling of goodwill. I’ve no desire to bang you nor do I wish your a favor in return. The sad reality of this; “I really am this nice.” So stop trying to figure me out, the big mystery slaps you in the face like a dead wet fish and you’re wondering how sharp the other edge of my sword is, and it isn’t. You’re looking at one of the last goodhearted miserable romantics, the very ones you peeve over your own inability to notice. Assholedry isn’t in our nature, certainly that would explain why we haven’t revealed ourselves on your radar, yet it wasn’t our choice, and still wonder at your abilities in hoplessness, mainly in listening to your gestations of failure. But nevertheless, I, personally am a ruthless elitist and will find you dull. I sometimes wish you would negate that theory and prove me wrong. But for the time being, I suppose I can continue to muster this unaccounted generosity and have you wonder what my problems are. Like yours, they are endless.