Ok. I think I’ve figured out the solution to all my problems...I need a gigolo. Wait! Bear with me. Let’s look at this logically and reasonably:
First of all, I am objectively hot. Ok, so that has nothing to do with this situation whatsoever, but I only have a couple of good things going for me right now so I’ve got to capitalize on the shit that's actually working. So there.
Second, I’m losing my total mole! This is way beyond stroking the wooden handle of Ye Olde Renaissance Festival Hottie's goods at the sword shop. Seriously, I'm so desperate that I'm way beyond wanting to slum. I'm like face down, thrashing around and licking the bottom of barrel here. At this point, I am fully prepared to shell out for some sugar if it will increase the quality of my prospects. Please God, let them accept Discover.
And finally, I don’t have time to talk to stupid boys and get to know them and pretend to care about their gay feelings. I just need some action here, folks! As you may know, I am officially a tortured musician, so I don’t have time for flowery romantic happiness crap. In fact, the more angst ridden and excruciating the purely sex-driven relationship is, the better! More angry songs! Hooray!
Since we already know and agree that I am the Godfather of hotness (except that I am not a dude, nor do I speak with an unusual speech impediment...and I don't whack people either, just unspeakable trolliness) we can move on to the sad ways in which I am spinning out of control. I swear sweetie pies, it’s getting to the point where I can smell hot guys before I see them. My crew can vouch for me when I say that we’ll be out boozing when suddenly, my nostrils flare and I start growling like a wild boar whilst making rude tongue gestures at the subjects of good-smelliness. I miss whole chunks of totally crucial conversations, like, "I've got some bark on my tongue, could you brush it off for me?"
It's even escalated to the point where I do it when I'm by myself. For instance, yesterday, I was driving along and rocking out to some serious Zombie "Thunderkiss '65" when I nearly skidded off the road drooling out the window. I’m ashamed to admit that it was little high school track boys running like youthful gods on Ward Parkway. Their virgin bodies…glistening. And those tiny shorts. Riding up higher and higher with every stride of their taught, meaty legs. Alone in my car, I screamed, “That’s right, babies! Let mama show you what a real woman looks like!!!”
Help me. Please. Somebody.
Bacon Dress
It's hawter than yours.
