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| This one goes out to the ladies. |
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Dear Women:
Why do you think you aren't prostitutes? Relationships end up the same fucking way every time. I just spent a whole shitload of money on you, you fucked me a few times, and then I got tired of you and kicked you out of a moving car. QUIT COMPLAINING ABOUT EVERYTHING. Yes, all of you are different, unique beautiful butterflies. All of you are so different, some of you are shy, others are not so shy. Some of you have this mental disorder, the others have this other mental disorder. Some of you were "raped." Wait, no, about 90% of you were "raped." I put it in quotation marks because RAPE DOESN'T FUCKING HAPPEN ENOUGH FOR 90% OF YOU TO HAVE BEEN RAPED BY YOUR LAST BOYFRIEND, UNLESS YOU WERE ALL DATING THE SAME FUCKING GUY. What the fuck!?
Some of you cry because you think I give a fucking shit about this or that, and I don't. When you cry, the first thing that enters my head is, "OH FUCKING FUCK. NOT A-FUCKING-GAIN. HOW CAN I JUMP OUT OF A CAR WHEN I'M STUCK IN A MOVIE THEATER WITH YOU?" Hold on, let me go spend a couple of grand on fucking clothes for you again. Oh wait, you want to go out to eat? Oh okay, let me spend a FEW HUNDRED FUCKING DOLLARS ON YOUR FOOD FOR YOU. ARE YOU DONE CRYING YET? Sheesh. It's like all women are programmed by the worst stereotypical imagery of a broken individual.
But then there's you, babe. You really are different than the rest. You weren't fake-raped, you weren't sluttified, you are pure, unadulterated fucking pimp-ass-awesome. Babe, you really are beautiful, and it isn't just your looks. Your personality, your sense of humor, all of these sound like a chorus of angels raining down from heaven. This is good enough to be an apology from God himself for the rest of my life up until now. Girl, just hearing your voice makes me smile like the happiest man on the planet. I feel clumsy around you because of your immaculate grace, and despite being the perfect woman for me, I do not feel good enough for you. You make me want to be a better person, you make me want to believe that anything is possible. Wait... why are you crying? Your dad did what!? WHAT? YOUR DAD RAPED YOU, TOO? WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T YOU TELL THE POLICE? WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME!? WAIT A SECOND. YOU HAVE SEVEN LOCKS ON YOUR DOOR? Okay, that's fine, let's move on, I'll take you to a nice place, we can do whatever you want. Good, you are happy, we go back to my place. You lean your head on my shoulder, and I actually come close to tearing up. It's a fucking chick-flick. How the hell did you do this to me? Wait, quit TALKING ABOUT YOUR RAPE. MATTHEW MACAUGHNAHAY ISN'T GOING TO RAPE YOU, YOU CRAZY FUCKING BITCH! OKAY, that's it. Please leave. Yes, you are crying, but I'm jaded. I've seen the same fucking horror story about eleven times now. Please, walk out the door, and drive home. Do not call me, do not e-mail me, do not text me, and please, do not talk to me. Please, go away. |
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