I received an interesting text over the weekend. I was both, tickled with insatiable laughter, and confined with feelings of being violated. Gosh… Sometimes I wish I would drop name bombs on you guys so you could get the five laughs off of some of these jokers-with visuals; But, alas, I keep close to the privacy quotient and keep these dildo soldiers faceless. Dammit. The fuckery. I know.
Back to the text assault… Picture this. Morning. I hadn’t even begun my coffee slurping. I check my phone. If you know me, that will never begin well… You could send me a good morning text with fairy dust and glitter bursting from it and I’d bah-humbug that shit before my cup of joe. Focus. Dusting off glitter. Text Massacre? Oh yes… So I open a text from someone I hadn’t heard from in quite some time. Nice guy. Just wasn’t for me. And I’m a little delighted because I’m always curious about how people are doing years later and hope they’re doing all la-do-da… I’m nostalgic like that. We had kicked it for some time, no big whoop dee doo and remaining friends wasn’t a stretch for either party and I feel like I could add another member to my extended acquaintance family tree. Only seeing them at reunions. Like a distant cousin or something… Who I dated. Wait. That didn’t come out right.
Boy, was I wrong. Ever hear of the saying that people come into your life for a reason, season, or a lifetime? Holy crap. Nice guy to weird guy. A reason has never rung more true for this situation. And I think sending me a random dick pic is a pretty disgusting reason to let someone loose… Time to prune back that proverbial tree family. Timber! At first insult, I felt like I wanted to vomit. After i contained my need to upchuck… I thought, mayyyybe he sent this to me by mistake. Oh look… It was followed up by a wink face text. Sigh. Intentional.
We can no longer be friends. I could make a mockery of him and screenshot that ugly thing, stick it all over social media. Do it. Yeah? Do it. No. Be a good person, Rita. But then again? Come on, do it. No. Now you stop it little shoulder devil. The urge to disgorge is real. But, I’m not evil.. So, damn. I need another option. And if you’re grossed out from reading this… Think about how nauseated I was to bear witness. Ugh. I shudder… Oh. Got it. You just earned yourself a spot on the block list, my now, former tactless friend. I feel so clammy. After I show my disdain for your social text ineptness… I find that there’s a moral to this story. There is? No… There’s not. Listen, Just don’t send surprise junk pics to girls. It’s creepy. I beg you. Because the will to throw up won’t subside. Repugnant crudeness equals regurgitated lunch. Awwww… And that box of cordial cherries. All alone. With my name on it. Awaiting my consumption. Appetite, killed. Thanks text assailant. You’re a doll. Good looking out though, shoulder angel.