You’re such a wonderful person. But you got problems. I’ll never touch you.

Don’t pat me on the fucking back when you “hug” me. Don’t put one arm limply around my back and consider that a “hug”. Yeah, I know. You think I’m some kind of predatory middle-aged fuck-up who isn’t aware that you have a strict policy on married fatties. Yeah, don’t worry, though. I have no designs on scrapping with your pudendum in the Whole Foods bathroom. I’m just here to be your friend. I’m just trying to assist your transition from semi-hot pseudo-intellectual college student to blank-eyed housewife, mother of kids you cannot stand, living in opulent splendor in some thrown-up suburban-esque McMansion. The dream.

Don’t worry. Part of my service is providing you with the only interesting conversation you’re gonna have all week, and why? Because I don’t fucking care anymore. The only thing you have to do is sit there and enjoy my act for a while, and offer up some (lately) milquetoast  theories on why there aren’t more blacks here. I’m laughing on the inside. Imagine, if you can, a man who is not attracted to you just because you have slot b.

I love this band.

2 thoughts on “You’re such a wonderful person. But you got problems. I’ll never touch you.

  1. Jolene Baller says:

    Dear Sunshine Tab A…lighten up baby. -Jo

  2. Yeah, but what do you think of The Mo?

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