suck a dick, but not in a good way. At least the rest of the year is just a hand job with a ring on- or a callous. Not that you care personally about free falling a good five seconds into deeper debt or atrocious music or calories and fat and- really atrocious music. It just sucks that the Pain Factory does 73% of their yearly business in two weeks. I mean spread it out for fuck’s sake. Don’t people give birthday gifts anymore?
So the music is like that girl in college, Stacy, who had rows of teeth like a shark, and drank just enough to vomit in your lap- before you arrived. Or that time your girlfriend (who was usually amazing at them) didn’t want to do it and was sighing the whole time but you weren’t sure and then when it was all over you weren’t even sleepy cuz you loved her- and now she has a kink in her neck and her jaw is sore.
Why are the holidays so damn braggadocios? Don’t people know by now that all that shit is transparent insecurity or a straight up lie? Will they in 2018? Will someone finally send me a Holiday Card that says, “So 2018 didn’t live up to expectations. My husband was kind of a loner prick who spent all his time chatting with strangers online, my kids did good in school but they got more spoiled- and therefore more unprepared for the real world, I got caught up in a cosmetic Ponzi scheme but at least I got drunk a few times at the meetings and my Asian neighbor talked me into letting her go down on me once (just once- promise). Our dog died because we forgot to give him water when we went camping (which also sucked). Credit cards are through the roof. The guy who mows the lawn has a nice body and lots of tattoos but I’m too shy to ask him in for a fuck. We are hoping 2019 will be OK but who knows? God bless and happy holidays all you people I never talk to anymore. Cheers!
Buy the blogger a beer…
All this hard living and writing about it makes me thirsty... You gonna buy one or be one?
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