Today, I got day drunk in my pajamas. After all, it's Columbus Day. How else do you fuckin' celebrate it? Then I got a call from my local police station that they wanted me to come in for a photo line up. I could have scheduled it for tomorrow. But that Riesling with a side of leftover fried fish had me feeling pretty ballsy. So naturally I went immediately. Ballsy is what had me there in the first place. I ain't gonna take shit from the Aussie hussy complaining that a Long Island Iced Tea ain't strong enough...so I sure as hell ain't gonna take it from some punk asshole trying to get his hands on my Clark's backpack.
I feel like I'm insulting punks here. I love punks. I hate cunts. Cunt asshole. Better.
I could have taken the day and just cruised under the radar. And a year ago, that's exactly what I would have done. What a difference a year makes. I also would have given the cunt asshole my bag and probably a smile. I'm southern, I can be real fucking charming like that. But not today. I'm done making myself small. There's no radar on the radar that can detect the existential limits I will push myself to. Take your step-up lunges and I will raise you a Bulgarian split squat.
Turns out -wasn't the guy. It came down to analyzing head shapes. Something I recommend everyone do at some point. I'm convinced anyone with dents at the temples decorates their basement bedroom with fairy lights and burns stolen credit cards cause they like the smell.
Do I feel pretty in my faded pink plaid pajama bottoms and panties that have been through about eleven too many periods? No.
I feel pretty unglued.
But sickly...I can walk around forgetting to put make up on half my face and still feel convinced that I could fuck a high school quarterback.
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