• For the price of one

    by  • November 28, 2011 • Karma • 0 Comments

    Ohhhhhhhhh the possibilities. Let’s see there’s the private investigator that’s been with me since I was a girl. He’s the guy that makes $10/hr and has a random sleep schedule because he doesn’t have a life of his own, sleeps with trashy women and smokes in his apartment. Then there’s the guy who I’d prefer to be my right ass cheek. He’s paid $200/hour and it’s kind of hot. Then there’s the guy I thought was my love. He’s looked at me in ways that you can’t believe. I remember when he would give me the look of ha! you’ll never have me. Then take my friends on dates and tell me to shut up when I’d speak of us hooking up. Then he’s also looked at me like maybe I’m the one he’s chasing. Newsflash! You’re an idiot. Then there’s the guy who is my cali-spy. Not flown in, a temp. A big fat accident. He could be a rockstar, fat or skinny, I was so fucking drunk. Maybe you just live there and had a bad fucking night, which would be preferred. For whatever reason, I don’t feel that is the case. If it was I’d imagine a very normal life, mediocre, but fulfilling as long as you don’t sleep around. Which you probably would because you’re obnoxious and better than everyone else. Then there’s this slim chance that you’re an import. Tested and tested and tested. Bingo. Smart, successful, good looking, an introvert. It’s hard for you to find a girl you really like. It seems like there’s only a few options and even those options have become less attractive. Your friends that funny guy at the bar and it’s love. Where the fuck is my life… in a box somewhere? Now that I know, just pay me to party and I’ll sit when you say sit. Just like you want.

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