My Boyfriend Thinks You’re Hot, So You Must Die.
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Even though I’m in committed relationship, my man has the wandering eye. Unfortunately for me, sometimes those eyes wander over to you. Rather than vanish in a puff of smoke at my will, you remain, where my boyfriend can examine you and determine whether or not you are hot. Here are the results of my observations.
Balding Italian Guy from Queens: You, I can not understand. My boyfriend seems drawn to you and thinks you are cute. He looks forward to seeing you and makes it a point to announce your pending arrival. You have a post-menopausal woman’s body and laugh like a talk-show host. You also come over to our lesbian friend’s apartment and talk about fucking show tunes and Betty Buckley. You also stare into my boyfriend’s eyes a little too long. I see nothing in you. You must die.
Hot Italian Guy: You actually are pretty damn hot, my boyfriend thinks you’re hot and I think you think the same of me. You may live.
Muscle Queen at The Lesbian Bar: Although I will admit that you have a better body than me, you must die. You must die because it is my boyfriend’s hope of running into you that I am dragged into the most excruciatingly boring lesbian bar ever so that my boyfriend can tell me that I should work out more often because he just touched your God Damn fucking bicep and lives for that sort of thing. I can not tell you how badly paranoia sets in when he follows you outside to smoke a cigarette. I fear that one of you will come back tucking their shirt back in their pants. Screechy high-pitched girly voice and ultra-fake personality aside, he thinks you’re hot. You must die.
Psycho boyfriend-of-a-friend: Well, although you were not determined hot by me or my boyfriend due to your odd shifty eyes and boney, pale-skinned body, you flirt with my boyfriend repeatedly. You provoke him, attempt to grapple with him and make sexual remarks that are just desperate and pathetic. So, even though you are not hot, you must die.
Greek Guy with Issues: Though I’ve known you far longer than my boyfriend, and I know the ins and outs of your completely psychotic personality, it is an insanely blurry web photo of your pasty blob-like bicep that you posted on your ghetto-fabulous web page that first caught my boyfriend’s attention. I thought he would laugh at it. However, since then, there were many questions asked of you, that I tried in vain to void with the true stories of your bitchy attitude and shadiness. I even told him that you listen to rap music (which he hates) and try to act “thug” and “ghetto.” I also told him that you have no job, prefer not to work, and are a complete waste of DNA. Still, boyfriend maintained continued curiosity. It was not until years after that photo was taken (and many additional pounds on your ass) that my boyfriend met you in person at a Halloween party. Thank you for the large gut and double chin that could not be hidden by your vague “scary clown” costume. Also, thank you for your avoidance of me and my boyfriend the entire night and the last nasty comment you made on the way out the door. Neither one of us think you are hot, but I’d still like you to die.
Weird Guy with Big Arms: You are a friend from my boyfriend’s past. You are on his buddy list and IM him constantly. I met you in person and you are just weird. I see a man-ish figure with large arms, but I hear one of the Golden Girls giving me relationship advice and hinting at my boyfriend’s “naughty” past while getting too close to him for my comfort. You must die.
Substance Abusing Money Maker: You contact my boyfriend from time to time because rather than vanishing after your one date with my man years ago, you linger. You call in your drugged-up state and whine about how fucked up your life is despite the fact that you pull in 100G a year. You stupid motherfucker. My boyfriend even has a God Damned nickname for you, but not for me. You must die.
Action Star of Questionable Race: My boyfriend makes repeated comments at the sight of you on TV or on a billboard. Rumors of your homosexuality only fuel this lust on his part. You have enormous arms that could double as legs. My boyfriend thinks you’re hot, and even though I somewhat agree, you must die.
Wrestling Stars: It is because of you fucking steroid monsters that I must endure agonizing overacting, pointless pyrotechnics and the occasional degrading comment about my body. You all must die. Even the ones that I think are hot. You must die.
this is in or around Chelsea