Essays and Bad Ideas

It’s the little things that kill…

I’ll never stop loving the fact that something this trivial absolutely fucking terrifies some otherwise badass bitches. The incongruity is delicious.

“Cut me, Daddy! Throw me down a flight of stairs! Punch me in the face, punch a baby into me, and then punch my code into the ATM so we can buy some Plan B and a cold compress!

“But, uh, y’know… don’t, like, poke me in the ribs with your fingertips, or, I mean, scratch my insole with your fingernail… or whatever. That— that shit’s just not right.

Girls are nonsense. Pure nonsense.