God, what has happened to me?! I have just become so sassy of late. Sometimes I wish I could find my heterosexuality, I swear I left it in that swan-shaped sandbox with that cracked up, sun dried raisin, Angela Ross.
Nothing seems to have contributed more than elementary school. Waking up early to be manhandled by the boys during a game of football that lead me to believe I’d be getting lucky today during the math lesson in Mrs. Habegger’s class. And then the day that changed me forever, and made me a believer, the day I broke my ankle. That was the single most satisfying and painful day of my life. Being tackled by the the Chosen One, Miles Grifo. I had no problem being the “Place Where Bad Things Happen” for Him to land. Great Gatsby, there is a God! If anyone did, it was my ankle, and probably Lindsay Swiergosz, selfish cunt.
And then there was Mrs. Fox’s class where I was so excited to watch the Irish tap dancers, which inspired me to be the greatest black girl dancer my little thighs and ass could shake! No, Lean Cuisine, I want this fat to go straight to my new eye, my little brown eye. The Backstreet Boys didn’t help my case much either. I convinced myself I was that one AJ should have said no too in “The Call.” Then there was 98 Degrees who just raised my body temperature way past 98 degrees, except the fugly one, Justin Jeffre.
Let’s talk about all the hyper-masculine wrestling stars I watched provocatively caress each other every Sunday, Monday, Thursday, and sometimes Friday nights. Man these guys are horny! I was under the impression I would get play like that several nights a week, when in reality, I’m fishing in a fucking flower pot here man. Have you ever fished in a flower pot? I have. The odds, well, they’re not that great. Except that one time, and I ended up with poison ivy. And my wrestling name was Tink way long before yours, Jessica Krauss, you bimbo! I have better acting skills than you, and my idea of acting is opening up the refrigerator and pretending I have shit to eat!
There was no hope for me. It was inevitable. The deal was sealed that day in the sandbox. And now I’m stuck here reeling from the frustration of not being able to hook up with four separate guys this past week. Seriously, what the fuck? I normally wouldn’t care, except that I could figuratively taste their muscles among other things. (Did I use that right, Dasha? I know you’re a fucking stickler for literally vs. figuratively). Did I go to far though? Whoopsie. So here I am, with no taste of tuna, and no meats. Boy, I really got the small meat tenderizer this time.
