where do i start? there is just so much wisdom i wish i could impart on you.. unfortunately, your handlebar mustache and/or lakers jersey are so distracting, ive forgotten why i should bother.
nevertheless, please stop referring to yourself in the third person; not even you can portray yourself as interesting. also, when you rev your pick-up truck at a red light, you're only calling attention to your desperate need to compensate for something, and at this point im leaning towards an embarrassing credit score and/or a job in the service industry.
no, i dont want you to buy me a drink; forced small talk with you is far more expensive than the vodka soda im perfectly willing to purchase for myself - yes, even though i am broke as shit.
stop wearing your baseball hat backwards, sideways, tilted, and/or inside out.. you look like a tool. oh, and while we're on the topic of your garb.. keep your shirt on. literally. your man breasts may be bigger than mine, but im not impressed or even jealous. we're not at the beach and frankly, you smell like boy-sweat and shellfish. newsflash, sponsoring my drunk-burrito at albertos or even a jack-in-the-crack drive-thru run does not entitle to you a bj. ever.
oh doucher, i apologize for this blunt attack on your manhood, but lets be real, you had it coming. until you come to terms with the fact that a cocky attitude and spray tan will not get you everywhere, you will continue to slip below the radar of every self-respecting female in your age bracket; though i can't speak for underage girls with daddy issues.
please dont flatter yourself that im a man-hating feminist with no appreciation for testosterone and sports center. trust me, its not me - its you; and it always will be. suppose i'll be seeing you at shoreclub, just try not to spill your red bull slushie on me while youre grinding on that blonde chick; i assure you, im there for the tacos.
one love.
nevertheless, please stop referring to yourself in the third person; not even you can portray yourself as interesting. also, when you rev your pick-up truck at a red light, you're only calling attention to your desperate need to compensate for something, and at this point im leaning towards an embarrassing credit score and/or a job in the service industry.
no, i dont want you to buy me a drink; forced small talk with you is far more expensive than the vodka soda im perfectly willing to purchase for myself - yes, even though i am broke as shit.
stop wearing your baseball hat backwards, sideways, tilted, and/or inside out.. you look like a tool. oh, and while we're on the topic of your garb.. keep your shirt on. literally. your man breasts may be bigger than mine, but im not impressed or even jealous. we're not at the beach and frankly, you smell like boy-sweat and shellfish. newsflash, sponsoring my drunk-burrito at albertos or even a jack-in-the-crack drive-thru run does not entitle to you a bj. ever.
oh doucher, i apologize for this blunt attack on your manhood, but lets be real, you had it coming. until you come to terms with the fact that a cocky attitude and spray tan will not get you everywhere, you will continue to slip below the radar of every self-respecting female in your age bracket; though i can't speak for underage girls with daddy issues.
please dont flatter yourself that im a man-hating feminist with no appreciation for testosterone and sports center. trust me, its not me - its you; and it always will be. suppose i'll be seeing you at shoreclub, just try not to spill your red bull slushie on me while youre grinding on that blonde chick; i assure you, im there for the tacos.
one love.
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