Don’t contact me, asshole.
My husband is the one
who will be purchasing the car.
My husband will take the wheel.
My husband will test drive.
I have no use for all these numbers.
Yuppies and their fucking designer cupcakes.
Color coded cupcakes.
Cupcakes for that big fucking promotion.
We live in such a cute ass cupcake world.
Cupcake douche is on CLEARANCE.
Maybe if I trick him into thinking my cunt
is a cupcake he will
lick it once
in a great while.
Oh don’t get me started
on married Christians
and their voting power.
There should be an island.
Left to their own devices
they would cannibalize to extinction
in the space of a single college basketball game.
Fuck you for calling me.
Fuck you and your hypocrisy.
Fuck you and your scrutiny.
Fuck you and your foreclosure.
Fuck you and your bankruptcy.
Fuck you and your pumpkin cheesecake.
Fuck you and your tuna cheddar casserole.
Fuck you and your Facebook friends.
Fuck you and your cats.
Fuck you and your dogs.
Fuck you and fuck you and I’m not being specific.
My hatred is deep and wide and all inclusive.
There is enough poison for the next two generations.
Fucking drunk fucking stupid fucking ambivalent fucking dead.
Prove you’re alive.
I don’t believe you.
You slept through the credits.
There are movies being made.
Tom Cruise is getting richer.
Marilyn Monroe is getting deader.
Are you going to eat that sandwich?