Now, I need to go on record as saying I’m absolutely well known for being a world class Bitchface.
Is this true? Get my fucking whiteboard, clearly we’ve got some equations to run.
You goddam right it is, because I am a lot of things, but a bitch with something to hide? Not at all.
As a matter of fact, there pretty much isn’t any fucking aspect of my life we don’t pick apart. I’m talking about, we fine tooth comb this shit. We fucking alphanumerically file this shit. Lastly, we fucking print this shit in ink, sir.
While we’re clarifying, let me note that when I say we, I fucking mean me.
Yet, it never fails, there is always some ignorant asshole who decides to get directly in my bubble and chirp in my fucking ear.
That’s not smart. That’s not recommended. That’s not OSHA fucking certified.
I love when someone decides they can tell me how to do me better than I do me. You know why that’s so fucking funny to me?
You are absolutely correct. Because I fucking built me. And all of this *waves well-manicured hand in the general direction of this* Well, I’ll be damned, I built this too.
Me. This Bitchface at the damned laptop. You got it, me.
Check this out. It’s supposed to look easy, bitch. I do that shit on purpose. You think I would come here and tell y’all I fucking have anxiety about keeping my clients happy, or fucking paying these bills, or not scuffing these goddam Louboutin’s? Fuck no.
As a matter of fact, I’m not telling anyone shit. You couldn’t pry my fucking feelings out of me with 2 crowbars and some Astroglide. That’s how fucking close to the vest I’m playing my shit these days.
Because I slipped. Because I damned near lost everything. Because I know, no matter who you think has your fucking back, they walk too.
So, before you drop me a little snide ass note about what you think I should be saying, or who you think I should be quoting, or what color fuzzy socks you believe I ought to wear, I need you to remember, I don’t give a fuck.
There’s only room for one behind this glass, and that one is me. I’ll be The Queen until they fucking throw dirt on me, and even then, you’ll be hard pressed to fill my tiara, so go on and start your Olaplex treatments today, bitch.
I know. It’s vibrant and it shimmers in the sunlight. You may continue to stare, but don’t touch it.
If you feel as though you can do what I do, I encourage you baby. Go ahead and give it the old college try. Fuck, I’ll sit in the front row and cheer you on, not like these abhorrent ass fat bitches in the back row at my shows.
But do you. Don’t try to do me. Hell, I can barely pull it off and I am me.
If anyone else would like to give me some tips on how I can better be the Bitchface running this show, hit the fucking inbox thequeen@askabitchface.net.
Oh, shit. Looks like that’s addressed right to me. Imagine that.
The fuck out of here. Not even on your best day.
Fire away!!!!! I’ll load my canon
I actually do have a tip that this Right and Proper Asswhole has used for decades..
*9 ft. Flashing Red Letters*
"Your opinion of me, SIR, is none of my business."
It was supposedly penned (while, I suspect, pointing and laughing) by one Mister Samuel A. Clemens *the original Right And Proper Asswhole* in response to a book review of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by a damnyankee critic.
This has been my life motto for well over 40 years now, and I cheerfully offer it to you for your perusal and personal use.