Thank You For Calling 1-800-Fuckboy
What Can Ms. Macon Do To Get You Off This Fucking Phone Swiftly?
Sometimes, I find myself thinking on a fuckboy story and I literally realize I’m shaking my head at the fuckery they have pulled.
Like they’re a) smart b) believable or c) worth the time it takes to throw their dusty ass out of my damned house.
Who’s next in the fuckboy queue? Tell Ms. Macon all your baby mama and child support woes prior to sending a dick pic…does that cover it? Of course, it does, that’s all the tired ass game y’all ever have…for the record, talking about your ex isn’t ever attractive, and I wouldn’t waste my data downloading your little sad ass dic pic. Next, please.
So, now we’re up to Brandon. Get this shit, though. This dude apparently was in an altercation with the Fuckboy King, my ex Derek. From what I understand, Derek had slept with the baby mama, and I’m not at all surprised, because he’s nailed anything moving between here and Kansas.
For the record, I know the girl, and I actually think she’s a pretty cool chic. She and I have no issues, she’s too good for both of them if you ask me.
I digress. So after the altercation of the fuckboys, I begin getting a random team of fuckboy visits to my bars. This dude Brandon, really intent to chatter in my direction, although I thought the extent of me standing there staring at my Fossil and yawning would have been a great indication of my feelings on the matter.
Then come the dings in the DM. Oh, no, it seems you have me misconstrued. I’m not square dancing with y’all. If y’all wanna have some sort of trading scenario like it’s fucking Pokemon cards, y’all do just that. I don’t want either one of y’all, and no you’re not sleeping with me to spite him. He actually tried to convince me in that exact manner.
“He didn’t have a problem cheating on you with my baby mama”.
I don’t care. He’s gone. Long gone. Anything I do, it isn’t in memory of, despite, for spite, in consideration, or with an afterthought of him. That Bozo is somewhere in a clown car with 9 other rosy-cheeked fellows, probably the Fuckboy Mobile because that would just be too perfect.
No, Brandon, you can’t sleep with me to get back at my ex or yours. You can’t sleep with me period. Matter of fact, last call. Round up your team of fuckboys and wipe all these damned beer mug rings off my bar, you nasty ass non-coaster using unhome trained fuckboys.
“Next caller, please”.
Jesus, they just get progressively worse. And people wonder why I don’t want to do this again.