I don’t really appreciate irony until, ironically, it involves a cruel twist of fate.
It’s just this thing I do.
So when I talked of my trust being on a steroid regimen to try and actually see the “potential” in these ignorant ass Fuckboys that know who I am, and know what I write, yet still somehow believe I can’t watch their sad-ass little hamster wheels spinning, I should have understood that I was inviting the Fuckboy energy into my personal space.
I believe my exact words were “I can’t trust because every man I have ever chosen to believe in punched me dead ass in my heart”. I can also confirm, indeed, every man I have ever chosen to believe in punched me dead ass in my heart. That isn’t the double back handspring back layout of fate, though.
The very reason I wrote the column, the driving force (who doesn’t get a fucking name because I don’t owe him shit) behind opening old wounds with dull gardening shears, turned right around and punched me dead ass in my heart.
I wouldn’t have believed the shit myself if I didn’t have a fist-sized hole in my breastplate.
I must say, this Fuckboy must have been attempting to best Derek for the title of the Fuckboy King because he almost sold me a dream. He almost wool pulled me. He nearly rug yanked me. These Fuckboys have stepped their game up, because dude was unbelievably smooth.
He wasn’t Fuckboy smooth, he was polished. Like an 8 lb. ball on a Saturday night polished. Like penny loafer polished. I am disappointed in myself for not putting him in a chokehold when he was blatantly evasive the first time. I knew, on some level, I was in on the happenings in the mind of a silver-tongued magician, sleight of hand slightly invasive.
These are the Fuckboy 5.0, and I gotta say, I wasn’t ready.
These Fuckboys pack a punch.
As I struggled to remember what the last crop of Fuckboys tried to hustle me for, I stood with my jaw dropped at the absolute audacity of this Fuckboy. The sheer nerve.
I deliberately spoke of my campaign against the Fuckboy infestation that has rendered dudes handicapped. They have no home training, and they aren’t good for shit. They’re just the bottom of the damned barrel. If we’re being honest, I said much worse as well.
Somehow, that said to him “be a shady ass lying liarface”. So, he was. I’m constantly searching high and low for inconsistencies in the habits because a person's habits are hard to fake. And, they spoke volumes. So I listened.
So, to you, you know who you are. You almost did that. I mean, you’re definitely up for a Best Supporting Actor win at the Snatchy’s this year. I won’t wish you ill will, but we’re not cool. I would cuss you out in a public place probably if I was still drinking and you should consider trying to be a better person. I mean, that’s um. Yep.