I'm Sure Most Of You Have Heard By Now...
I mean, shit, it isn't like I didn't yell about the entire affair.
So, a few nights ago I came over here and told y’all that I was running a housekeeping cart through my shit over on Medium. However, being the greedy Bitchface that I am, I wasn’t willing to just fold my whole hand and declare the past a total loss.
And I did. I took a couple of the Andy and I stories, and I turned them over to The Good Men Project. They have a publication called “Hello, Love” that is chock full of stories of doe eyed bitches thinking that shit is all glitter and rainbows and what the fuck not.
Yep. You guessed it. All that soft shit I wrote back then, it fits right in.
Today, I open Twitter, and The Good Men Project had tweeted out the above.
Allright, so I got a little hype. Maybe more than a little. But, y’all know how big that shit is for me. The Good Men Project is the model of what I would like Ask A Bitchface to end up being.
They’re on video, podcast, every publishing platform, and they speak to your soul when they speak.
This is a big motherfucking deal for me. Even if it doesn’t send me a single reader, long-term, it’s validation. I can write the shit people said I couldn’t. I can come here and talk cash shit with y’all, and go right on over to Medium and put some love drivel on Front Street like I know what in the fuck I’m talking about.
That, Bitchfaces, is the ability to weave a fucking yarn. That’s a descriptive narrative so fucking descriptive that people who actually love people fucking believe me.
I hope you dirty bitches in the back row are taking notes, because, ho, this is the type of shit you should imitate. Not just the fantastic contour and Doll 10 lips.
Get in on my journaling classes. I’ll teach you a little something. I mean, maybe, depends on how I’m feeling that day. I might be petty. It’s a possibility, and not a slim one, actually.
So, needless to say, I’m feeling like a rapper with 10 chains. I don’t give a fuck if I’m on the bill or not, I’m here, so I’m rapping. Who’s finna stop me?
That’s right. Not a fucking soul.
So, if ol’ whathisname should stumble across this, I am not reliving us. Not even for a fucking second. I am, however, about my fucking money. I will remain about my money, and when the story of what used to be us sends it my way, you can consider me cashing it directly the fuck out.
May as well be worth something to someone.
If you haven’t read it, here it is. And I know, I know, I was wearing that ill- fitting double breasted suit of beige. Giving it all I had to be all I wasn’t.
I mean, we all fuck up from time to time. And if you don’t know how often I fuck up in a spectacular fashion, just completely miscall the scenario, you can go ahead and Ask A Bitchface.
I’ll tell you what his little stupid ass problem is.
A few celebrity crushes aside, never have I ever adored someone I've never met as much as you. Celebrating your continued success and in awe of your ability to flip this bitch into cash. You are nothing if not a survivor.... A gifted & talented survivor.
So proud of you!!!!!! 💜