She walks around like she thinks she’s beautiful, but to the rest of us her gait just belies a cringe worthy existence steeped in shuddering delusions. As she stands so smugly amidst a circle of of friends, who at the ripe age of early 20’s have donned appropriately snug and/or see through garments to reveal both a nicely fuckable physique and a barely tolerable lack of personality. She, on the other hand, with large arms just slightly too chunky to be considered pleasantly plump and a bulging neck, all sheathed beneath the sneaky cotton jersey con of some black tent dress. I think at one point she used to be skinny, but I can’t remember when that was, and her face with a few extra pounds no longer strikes anyone as cute. Sure, she has an ass, but in order to get to the point where you could actually enjoy sticking your dick in it, you’d have to interact with that fat face for probably much longer than is bearable.
Sometimes my friends tell me not to be petty, so in lieu of that I’ll stop talking about what six months of lazily eating top ramen and peanut butter will do to a 21 year old girl’s body. Rather, let’s talk about the shitty personality that waits behind the last year’s American Apparel “basics” and unbearably squishy body. I kind of don’t even know where to begin because I have no idea how she grew into this scathing, selfish banshee, but have you ever met somebody who will scream and cry and point fingers and cast blame and create as much of a scene as possible just to get her way? I’m not talking about toddlers here, I’m talking about grown ass adults. The type of person who will just never shut up about her problems and gets off on being a perpetual victim. Even if it takes holding onto every last thing you say, skewing it so it’s pretty much not an accurate depiction of reality and blowing it out of proportion. She’s the type of person who will do or say anything just to drag everyone who doesn’t agree with her into her grey, hopeless vortex of unhappiness. Because heaven forbid she is the only one wallowing in her own self made misery. She resorts to such cliche and tired and consistently transparent tactics such as getting back together with her abusive ex-boyfriend and then blaming it on friends who haven’t been paying enough attention to her. Constantly griping to anyone who will listen that she needs to hang out with “better friends” beause the ones she has now, has had for years, and have stuck by her side through thick and thin, somehow aren’t good enough. But I’m sure you see through that just as much as I do – it isn’t her friends who are to blame or aren’t good enough, it’s just an externalization of her own personality dirth. Apparently she sucks so much that she can’t even stand herself and has deluded herself into believing that her among different people somehow makes for a less shitty her. But she’s wrong. She’s the type of person you can incessantly find spewing out vitriol about her enemy du jour. The type of person who always has an enemy, will go through great lengths just to get one because if she weren’t thriving on constant negativity and the validation of the pity she forces her friends to feel for her, she would buckle under the sheer weight of having to operate like a normal human being and caring for her friends and taking care of her shit. Self involved is a very benign way to describe it, but on some basic level it is accurate. I have seen her willfully allow her dog to shit and piss all over the house she lives in, creating a health hazard not only for herself, her dog and her best friend but also for her three other roommates she had no qualms with merely because she was upset at her fourth roommate. Do you know how awful it is look at shit and piss all over your house every day? How nauseating and disgusting it is? The shit building up over a month to the point that there are shit smears and shit particles under foot from front door to back kitchen. Childish and immature is just the beginning of the description of her behavior, but pathological, filthy and cruel fit in there somewhere, too. All this amidst her ceaseless crying and yelling about god knows what…anything? Probably exactly anything she could come up with.
This is the type of girl who will demand an apology when you call her (accurately, I might add) “a bitch” and then in the next breath hurl such uncreative and inaccurate epithets as “you’re just a child.” Even her insults are as tired and boring as she is. When caught red handed stealing a $2000 Dolce & Gabbana dress from an estranged friend, whom she had ostracized by letting her dog shit in her friend’s bedroom, she somehow manages to back peddle the conversation into a screaming match about some inane, irrelevant issue she had with said friend last week. And even though she has been caught in the act, she won’t even apologize. If you manage somehow to painfully extract an apology from her, expect for her to retract it immediately. I have not once, ever, since I’ve known her, heard her use the words ‘please’ or ‘thank you.’ If you ever do hear her utter those words, please catch it on camera because my incredulousness will be insurmountable.
Of course, now that you’ve read this, you may be wondering, “Who is this fat, egregious, terrible, dirty banshee-cunt and where can I go to slap the shit out of her?” Well, no, I’m not going to stoop that low, this is just another caustic rant. No names will be mentioned in the forging of this battle prose.
However, if you already know who I’m talking about…well, I’m sure that means that you’ve already had to suffer through the insufferability that is her existence on this planet. I’m sure that if she ever gets a hold of this, it will mean that there will be much wailing & gnashing of teeth emanating from those shit smeared lips. My advice? Just roll with it. If anything, I know she secretly loves the attention that this rant will afford her. That’s why she fucked with me in the first place, right? Because she knew I’d write a catty article about how much she sucks. Because she knew I’d write a catty article about how much she sucks. Because this piece means that she can run up to anyone with two operational ears and cry them a sob story about how she’s just the victim of some bully who knows how to use the internet and please shower her with pity and attention so that she can feel her existence has been somehow validated. I’m sure at the end of the day the thing that would give her the most pleasure in this world would be if I were to actually hit her, because then imagine how much attention she would get! And she’ll just feed and feed and feed and feed and feed on it, and when she tells you I’m a bitch whore, well, sure, that’s fine, I kinda am, and I don’t really care if you think that about me.
Who knows though? Maybe you’ll get to know her and find out that she’s a really cool, caring, intelligent individual. That I’m completely wrong. That she’s mature and funny and collected. Honestly, if you ever get to know her, I hope that is the case. Because honestly I would hate for you to have to surround yourself with the xanthippe-esque character I just described. I hope she proves me wrong! And even more than that I hope she finds something that makes her happy. This never ending feed back loop of negativity and despair is too much for the world to handle. And while our friendship has been utterly decimated by this unfortunate series of events, you know what? Fuck it. I hope she can find happiness and peace in this world.
He fucks ugly girls like it’s a fetish, but we all know that it’s just symptomatic of somewhat fleeting but still crushing flashes of self hatred. It’s the easiest thing to do, cruising down to wherever Drunklandia is tonight, sweaty as he’s snaking through the throngs of divinely intoxicated hipsters, swaying here and there beneath the crushing weight of not being able to handle sobriety at any point past 10pm. Weaving through girls who waggle their asses in pure desperation for attention. Talking to him and her for a little bit before he, equally wasted, finds his mark. His beautiful little ugly girl. She’s always easy to pick out of the crowd, there’s always something embarassingly awkward about her. The way she’s standing around at this party. That a little bit too ugly back pack. The mom sweater. Pants that don’t make her ass look nice. She is juicily unattractive, usually with hair like straw from dying it green too many times when she was going through that punk phase that all her friends new was a shallow gimmick trying to get guys to fuck her. Or maybe she’s just an unpleasant mix of Asian and Latina, which generally breeds very fuckable specimen but every once in a while you’ll come across some girl with a fucked up nose and disproportionate body, and her features are just a little bit runny and her sense of style belies an acute unawareness of pop culture. She’s never been a pretty girl, and probably never will be, no amount of plucking and tweezing and waxing and lotions and shopping sprees and hair conditioner could change that. So he’ll take her, and he’ll stick his dick in her, and then, just like that, the next day, just dispose of her. Maybe he’ll toy with her emotions for a little bit and fuck her again, just because he likes to make them squirm, but that’s rare, mostly because it’s so heart wrenchingly painful.
He does it because he likes the sense of charity these women always instill him with. He, being a somewhat handsome and dapper fellow, and his feigned interest in their asinine, inane, generally unbearable and awkward conversations. As he gets them too drunk and they always fuck with this divine sense of gratitude emanating out from between their legs. Which are consistently hairy and something he would never stick his face into. He likes feeling like a hero for a night, and he likes how easy it is. It’s not like fucking pretty girls, who are a pain in the ass. Constantly demanding attention and devotion and entertainment and meals like they’re so entitled to it. Like they were born into this world to be pampered by men, my god, what a fucking con. He sees through it, through the bull shit, through the games, and straight to their disgusting, ugly souls. Straight to the trademark of a pretty girl: a total lack of anything interesting to say, ever. It’s just that the sound of their own voices is somehow bringing them closer to the social orgasm they’re trying to have.
No. No, an ugly girl. My god. An ugly girl is something you can really hang on to. An ugly girl has to do all the things that pretty girls don’t have to do, because most men think that being with a pretty girl is the prize in and of itself. No. He likes to have his laundry done while she cooks dinner. He likes to do whatever he wants to do to her in bed, because it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t actually enjoy anal, she’ll do it anyways just because if she doesn’t throw down in the sack he’ll just dump her and start fucking a pretty girl. Blow jobs, blow jobs, blow jobs, all the time, and he gets exactly as much sex as he wants because ugly girls don’t have enough self esteem to ever say “no” to a domineering man.
It’s an ecosystem that he helps perpetuate, constantly fucking these bland, boring, ugly, low sodium saltine bitches. And the pretty ones? Sure, he fucks the pretty ones, too, with their heads filled with fluff, but it’s different. It’s never worth it. They have such a highly evolved sense of emotions that must constantly be catered to. But ugly girls. Oh, the ugly girls, they will do anything if you only make them feel like a pretty girl for a day.
In case you’re not doing anything this fine Monday evening, come to Radio for me & Arianna’s DJ night: Grand Theft Boyfriend. Because I worked all weekend & I’m finna go doo doo dumb tonight.
I’m pretty sure that means that I’m absolutely nobody and I no longer have a personality. “My plan is I’m just gonna date someone and then move into his house until the internet is back on in a few days.” -me “My plan is I’m going to ruin that relationship so much that you’ll forget why you even got into that relationship in the first place.”-Miguel I’m probably going to just wind up punching walls until I run out of walls and then start punching peoples faces. Anyways I’m bar tending at Night Light (311 Broadway) alone for Sunday happy hour, roll through!