(no subject)
Well what the fuck I guess all men are liars I mean I was just grinding in some dude's bed "Sorry I have a girlfriend I don't feel right having sex" I mean I KNOW I didn't even want to fuck you I guess the attention just felt nice. So whatever, I gave you literally thirty-two reasons to date me but you pussied out and you're going to take what you know you're going to be with the girl you're cheating on but that's COOL that's OK whatever. I mean just fine.
ALso here is my night, I conned an Alabamaer and a Montrealer out of a Belgian beer (international fucking)I met no boyfriend I made an ass of myself I should probably cry.
I am alone in the world! In Alabama in Montreal in Sheldon's bed I am alone. Well here I come work cubicles, here I come handjobs and crying jags and mouthing pleasantries. I should pour my beer on the ground! I should step over your bike! You're just a user, sir!
Fuck the world, fuck men, fuck free beers and dating and massages and taxis and late-night phone calls and text messaging and REASONS TO NOT FUCK. Fuck free bottles of wine and "I will not come unless you fuck". Fuck this and fuck you and fuck me too for believing your sincere mojo, man, your sincere fucking TRIPE. You're a magician and a liar and it's suddenly 1 a.m. and I am unlikely to take a mate (in this current climate) I am alone on my bed and you're in your bed and you can jack it to your perfect girlfriend man, the poster girl of your cheating.
I'm going to call GUILLAUME and I'm going to call ALABAMA KEVIN and I'm going to call work and I'm going to say FUCK YOU and fuck you and fuck you and I'm going to stop talking to men! Go crazy like my militant lesbian cousin Caaaaaaaarol, and not let men into my HOUSE and my ears and my mouth and my life (and least of all my heart). It's over, I'm not soft any longer, I'm not doughy and beautiful and serene. I'm not chomping on your shit you poetical liar.
And no you're no Bukowski, you motherfucker. There's no rhythm to your soul.
ALso here is my night, I conned an Alabamaer and a Montrealer out of a Belgian beer (international fucking)I met no boyfriend I made an ass of myself I should probably cry.
I am alone in the world! In Alabama in Montreal in Sheldon's bed I am alone. Well here I come work cubicles, here I come handjobs and crying jags and mouthing pleasantries. I should pour my beer on the ground! I should step over your bike! You're just a user, sir!
Fuck the world, fuck men, fuck free beers and dating and massages and taxis and late-night phone calls and text messaging and REASONS TO NOT FUCK. Fuck free bottles of wine and "I will not come unless you fuck". Fuck this and fuck you and fuck me too for believing your sincere mojo, man, your sincere fucking TRIPE. You're a magician and a liar and it's suddenly 1 a.m. and I am unlikely to take a mate (in this current climate) I am alone on my bed and you're in your bed and you can jack it to your perfect girlfriend man, the poster girl of your cheating.
I'm going to call GUILLAUME and I'm going to call ALABAMA KEVIN and I'm going to call work and I'm going to say FUCK YOU and fuck you and fuck you and I'm going to stop talking to men! Go crazy like my militant lesbian cousin Caaaaaaaarol, and not let men into my HOUSE and my ears and my mouth and my life (and least of all my heart). It's over, I'm not soft any longer, I'm not doughy and beautiful and serene. I'm not chomping on your shit you poetical liar.
And no you're no Bukowski, you motherfucker. There's no rhythm to your soul.