Hey, asshole. No one planted you in that clean-up position. If you wanted to stop having caviar dreams on a peanut butter income, maybe you should have taken your ass to college. Or married rich. Or had kids with someone other than a fucking felon who gets out in 18 months. Shut the fuck up.
You're a dishwasher or a waitress, and to be real honest, it ain't gonna get much better by fucking a bartender/deejay.
'Cause guess what? We don't care.
"I'm going back to school then start my own business."
Your life is just not whole while reaching for the stars, eh? Gonna open up your own gym? Computer store? Nail salon?
Ohhhh, how the aspiring entrepreneurs come out the fucking woodwork with this one.
Needless to say the majority of this embarrassing confession comes up a little short in the effort department, as they are typically passed out drunk/stoned. I've fucking heard it all from both men and women:
Massage Therapist. Nursing Aide. Limo Driver. Veterinary Assistant. Correctional Officer.
Bitch, let's get real . . . "Basement Rapper," is the best you can hope for.
When you're 43, you'll be double-checking the parking meter as to make sure the city didn't get one over on ya.
"My boyfriend just isn't as thoughtful as he used to be."
Neither were any of my ex bitches, but I don't need to watch Oprah/Phil Fuckface to tell me all this relationship needs is a good piss-drunk, slap-a-thon.
Smack the shit outta your mate once every month.
If you're a man, make it an open-fisted jawbreaker.
If you're a woman, go close-fisted. We really listen after that because afterward we wonder where the fuck you got your balls from.
"I hate my life. I want to jump off a bridge."
Go ahead. Better than me building you one.
"I hate my boss. He always flirts with me."
Tell ya what; cut out the 30 minutes it takes to do your hair, the 60 for your make-up and walk into work the next two weeks barebones. I can almost predict he won't pay much attention to you. In fact, try wearing a sweater for 12 days straight. Come the first of the month, I've a feeling you'll know what unemployment tastes like.
You're not special.
"My man just doesn't eat my pussy like he used to. I think he might be cheating."
Yea, there's that, or the fact you don't really do anything reciprocal. There is a difference between "Alpha Male" and "Black Male."
Figure it out.
"Am I getting fat?"
Probably. That mirror on the wall didn't come from the fuckin' house of illusions.
"I think I'm going to declare bankruptcy; I shouldn't have credit cards."
This is a solid block of verbiage you'll hear from every bitch you date. Stripper or not, any human out there with tits thinks that plastic card is a fucking ticket to ride. I'm 34, and I have yet to meet a woman on or off the pole who doesn't 'joke' about her credit cards in some form.
What mesmerizes me is they still giggle while in debt. They actually find some chuckles in their 'amount due.'
Wow.
I'll find Ann Frank's diary in Alaska before I find a bitch in Milwaukee with good credit.
"I slept with my boss."
It's expected.
In fact, some people have made a rather good living with this approach, just not you.
"I think he wants to fuck my sister."
It happens. They say intelligence skips a generation, but it's been my experience your mother gave you the short stick in the beauty department as well.
"My stomach hurts."
But I haven't even punched you in it.
"My head hurts."
I thought your stomach was in agony. Now it's transferred to your bird brain?
"My leg hurts."
Chickens have suffered worse, not to mention Terry Fox. Suck it up and get that shit out of the dryer. I have to leave for work soon.
"My heart hurts."
So does mine, but I make you cum before I do so it should be all better now; nothing like a good jolt of the penis to snap you back into shape. My cock inside you does wonders to my 'insides' let me tell ya.
"I don't want to turn into my mother."
Look, I've met your mom, and I certainly don't want you to turn into her, either. She's a hell of a lot fatter and twice as uptight. Do me a favor and sneak-feed me calcified shrapnel from 1942 before I meet you at the alter.
On a positive note, I bet she could teach you how to give better head.
"Hey, don't get me wrong, I love my kids, but if I could do it all over again . . . "
Well naturally, baby. Naturally you'd be Miss-fucking-America if it weren't for those snotty-nosed rugrats. Only problem is reality is stronger than fiction, and the reality is that your kids suck.
They're stupider versions of you. From Gerber to training wheels to puberty onto finger-fucking and beyond their very first tax return, your kids will always be a retard without the extra water in their faces. And why??
Because YOU'RE raising them. Help the economy: take it in the ass from now on.
"Hi, my name is . . . "
Gotta love when they throw their shit-storm of a life onto drugs. Yea, life went sour after that first drop. It was alcohol that made her car wrap around a telephone pole. It was crank that caused the bruises upon her kids. It was heroin that made her put the baby in a microwave. It was all those Oxys and Vics that made her squirt piss on the 8th guy gang-banging her after hours.
"How do I look?"
Uhh . . . I dunno. Fractional to that of the first time I saw you.
"You never take me anywhere anymore."
Yea, because you act like a fucking imbisile in the house. Christ knows what you'd be able to pull off in public with a few drinks in ya.
"I can't do it tonight. My pussy is sore."
