Fuck Yous and Finger Handcuffs

Okay, now that’s over. It is time for me to throw down some truth.

Hi, kids! I might have actually lost my mind this time. Oh, guys, but I met a drummer. I know, right? See, things are starting to work out. And he is NOT A FUCKING LAWYER! Hahaha! Anywho, I feel like talking shit. This is your last time, guys. Read it all the way through for old times’ sake.

Hey, baby girl, listen. You will never be me. Let me explain. He couldn’t handle me. I was way more than he could deal with. I am so much smarter and good and generally better than what he was used to. You are such a heartless bitch. I would generally respect that in a person; however, you just stomped on his ass. You didn’t even play a game with him. That is poor gamesmanship. You just rejected him for years while you lived your happy life with your keeping-up-appearances, happy little family and just sank him further. You didn't even get to watch, for God’s sake. You’re frankly just so clearly insecure. And pathetic. You’ll never be me. That’s why you were so fucking jealous of me. I wasn’t jealous of you, honey. Why would I ever be?

Dave, honey bunny, I almost feel bad for you. I really do. You have dug yourself into the hell that you don’t want. Does it feel better to sit there alone at night and drink yourself to death alone? I mean, what? She is never going to be there to pull you out of the spiral. I know what you do every night. I know what your last thought is when you go to sleep at night. I know everything. You know that.

You are right, though. You are pathetic. Jesus, if I had only known. Oh, dear God, I would’ve fucked up your world. That was blindness on my part. I will laugh every time I think about the fact that she has your balls, keeps them in her purse, and then makes you carry it. Dude, you have no idea. I knew how insecure you were, but dude, for real? Such a pussy.

By the way, let’s talk about what a loser Dave is. Losing boxing record—that was, of course, my favorite internet find ever. Then you washed out of the military. Then, after getting a fucking degree in Latin American fucking Studies, what, you washed out of the CIA? Was it the psych eval, or were you just not good enough? Then you couldn’t get into a single law school in fucking Florida, for Christ’s sake? Because you had to move there because Daddy lost his job and had to start selling trailers? Is that real? Wow. Jesus, bro. Is that where you learned to just pack up stakes and fucking jet when you fuck up?

So, was Samoa just for money or experience so you could get somewhere else while you were being disbarred in Florida? Is that why you were only there for 10 months, because they finally took your Florida license? Or were you just broke and pussy-whipped? I’m not sure which one. Frankly, it could be either or both.

Banished to the fucking tundra until you fucked that up because, hey, here is the deal: I have heard how hard you work. Oh, baby, you were way too busy boning your boss, married women, and cucking for Phish phans to, you know, do your fucking job. That cover-up, bro. Yo, homie, goddamn.

See, this shit I truly don’t want to know. The guy at the Digger loves chatting with me. He is cool as shit, actually. Really nice dude. I like him a lot. We’re buddies.

Then you get banished to the desert. Then you let some loose cunt hold your balls for a decade while you sat on the couch and cried about it? Who the fuck were you? Seriously. You are just a basic fucking rich white boy who grew up in a goddamn John Hughes film. Pussy-whipped bitch who drinks too much and thinks way too highly of his cock.

I admit I was wrong. You didn’t meet your match in me. You were right to call me stupid when I said that. I was fucking far superior to you. No wonder you settled for her, because you knew that night that I could do so much better than you. And Stevie is still 100% a better fuck. He and I cum every fucking time. Good Lord. Jesus, that is truly great sex.

Oh, speaking of: Hey, guys, so Dave and I got into this argument after the apocalypse. We fucked constantly. I couldn’t even make it through the fucking door before we were naked, okay? Most weekends, we were just in bed all the time. So, we got into the “you were never any good in bed” argument.

He is a boring fuck. There is a thing where some dicks are big enough that it doesn’t totally matter if they know how to fuck. Credit where credit is due: Dave is in range. Me? Don’t even fucking lie. I’m one of the best.

Here was the thing: I get leverage. He told me I didn’t need it. Well, frankly, if I had it, I would have cum. But I didn’t. So he goes, “That’s not true. I made you cum. You have no idea. Your pussy does this thing…”

And I’m all like, “Um, dude, they’re called Kegels. You think I don’t have control of that shit?”

What kind of loose-ass fucking pussy are you dealing with, sir? Jesus, I have worked at this shit. I keep that shit tight. Shame you didn’t appreciate it. Oh, wait, I forgot. You totally did. No more tight pussy for you. And I know you miss it every time you fuck her. Is she even fucking you, or are you down to never by now? Just like I said in the epic text. I know everything. Bitch.

And I will leave you with a Stevie story. This is actually a thing we need to understand about the rape. I could never handle that. Too tight. It never should have been attempted. I obviously can’t say this in court, but you have no idea how fucking tight my pussy is. That is why he hurt me so fucking badly. Like, fucking damage.

Okay, Stevie. Stevie can make me cum—like, squirt like a fucking firehose—with one finger. He has always been able to. He had to buy a leather sofa, for fuck’s sake.

But Stevie has been stoned since the ’80s. Like, continually. So he would occasionally find my pussy super entertaining. Like, he would sit there and put his finger inside me and ask me to squeeze it and see if he could pull it out. Chinese finger handcuffs. We would sit there for hours doing this. I shit you not.

Show me your titties, Dave

Fuck You