You: Sitting on my black, LEATHER passenger seat in my 1990 LTC. You were wearing those green shoes with white polka dots that some other chick had on that one night. Remember that? You got all pissy about it. I know you were wearing pants and a shirt and all that other bullshit that you refuse to take off in my presence.
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Me: Stupid mohawk and some sort of shirt and...shorts?...fuck...yeah, shorts. I was sitting next to you in the driver's seat. I had a steering wheel in front of me. I was the guy driving you around.
I wanted to kiss you so violently bad. I mean, I dun it before, but, you know...you have a vagina. Vaginas are the part of the human body that emit signals to the penis-owning human's brain that create chaos with the reasoning functions of conscious thought. The penis-owning human becomes confused and the 'fear of rejection' monster (located two inches inward from the cold sweaty eyebrows) gnashes it's teeth, and the testicles dance with the tango of possible sperm freedom and possible denial-followed by anger-followed by masturbation-followed by bitter sperm freedom. The penis-owning (I call it my weiner gift) human, broken by the vagina's powerful scramble, shuts down and wonders quietly "what is this bitch thinking? Is it cool if I touch her booby? Am I breathing too loud? Fuck. I was breathing too loud."
Alas, I went home and masturbated with my new conditioner. My penis (weiner) is soft and shiney and full of bounce. I have you and the void within, formerly known as self confidence, to thank. I hate me. Tootles.