Oh, fuckin’ hell. It’s not just that his breath smells. It’s not just that he doesn’t know how to use his fuckin’ penis. And it’s not just that he can’t fuckin’ talk to me. It’s that I hate his fuckin’ music. Every song he considers an opus. And every song I just want to stick my thumb in my throat and vomit. Don’t laugh. It’s not funny. Shit. I think I just got my period. Or maybe I’m wet.
Nah, it’s my period. Do you have anything?
I love him so much. Fucker.