- This chick is funny as FUCK!
- Oh damn, I think she's talking about me!
There may be a point where you fit into both. Now, without any further fucking ado, I give you today's post.
I. FUCKING. HATE. CHEATERS. Plain and simple. Any form of cheater. The worst? Relationship cheaters. The douche/twat who just can't be fucking happy with the one person they have so they have more. More flirting, more sex, more what-the-fuck-ever it is they think they need. I've had to deal with cheaters before. More than once. How do I deal? Usually revenge.
Take one of my ex's, Gay-vy. Seemed like a good enough guy. We got "married" (turns out it wasn't legal because some paperwork was misfiled) and after a few months, I found out I was pregnant. I drove home to tell my "husband" the good news to find him in bed with... *pause for dramatic effect*... Another guy. Yep. Home skillet was gay and faked it with me. Not sure if I should think I was that good or if I'm manish... Anyway, after the fight and shit that happened after I found out, I took his credit card, bank card, and the car. I drove and got my tongue pierced, bought a shit ton of new goth clothes since eh destroyed all of my old ones, and fucked his car up hard core. I then drove back and tossed him the keys and took what money he had left and hopped on the train to The Oracle's in sunny SoCal. Next thing I hear, Deep Throater was driving when the engine started acting up (odd?) and a tire blew out (new tires, odd again?) and he flipped his car. Oh, the kicker... He was in the hospital getting his... Member... stitched up because his boyfriend bit him during the rollover. Just say NO to road head.
Then there was Constant Flirt. No matter what, this one had to flirt with every fucking bitch with a pussy. I swear. Shit became too much so I started flirting too. Only, I flirted with everyone. Guy, girls, it didn't matter. He flipped the fuck out and left because it was too much for him to handle. Watching the girl he wanted to marry flirt with everyone with no regard for his feelings. Boo fucking hoo. Zero fucks were given when he left.
Then there was Lilith (not her real name). I thought she was perfect. She was the first real person I knew. No games with her. Or so I thought. I was wrong. Bitch was running game for days! She was with a different guy every time I was on a shoot (I was a model and actress back in the day) and a different chick when I was working in The Haunted Hotel. So what did I do? Put hot sauce on her vibe. She wanted to be Miss Hot Crotch, fine. I'd help her along. Childish, yes. But funny as fuck when I saw her the week after I left. She couldn't figure out why she had blisters and burns. (Hint: Soak that fucker for a few days if it's silicone or something that is absorbent.)
The worst thing ever is someone who thinks about cheating, plans on cheating, cheats, and fucking talks in their damn sleep about the fucking shit! Cheese and fucking rice! It's bad enough that you have/are doing the deed, but I don't need to fucking here about it in detail when you're sleeping! I have seriously thought of severing vocal cords. Same goes wen you flirt knowing that shit is wrong and you fucking call me their name as you cuddle into me. I should have fucking beat your ass with a bat then and there, fucker. But I didn't. No, what I did was worse. I let Karma deal with your ass. Then when shit happened again, I didn't do anything again because Crazy Bitch did it herself. Repeatedly. For months. Then there was the sexting that I was forwarded as well (all of this happened within a few months) from another source. Fucking really? When the fuck were you going to learn? My guess, NEVER. Shit just kept fucking happening. Then one day... It stopped. Just like that. It was a "What the fuck just happened?" moment. I forgave shit that normally would have had me walking after inflicting horrible pain and torture on you. Forgave, never forgotten. Shit still hurts to this day.
So, for all you fuckers out there who think you won't get caught, you're too slick and have far too much game: WRONG, ASSHOLES! Shit always gets found out. Someway or another. If you're a sleep talker, you might as well just fess up to every thought you ever had. Seriously, because someone might start hitting you with random objects on night. Or you end up on the six o'clock news when your body is found several miles down a river bank. Just sayin'.