Shit. Shit, shit, shit, fuckgodamn. Flip the script every once in a while... otherwise, you're just fucking boring, aren't you?
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The train is dirty. The lights flicker slightly with the unreliability of florescence. On. Off. On. Off. Buzz. Its kind of dazzling in a way. One of those types of lights that can put a person in a trance if stared at for long enough periods of time. I wasn't completely there, but I was just on the verge of losing myself in the lights when I heard a sniffling. A quiet sobbing. Muttered words from the girl sitting across from me. And then my trance was gone. Now I just wanted to tell the sniveling bitch to shut the fuck up. What the hell are you complaining about? Is life that fucking hard for you? Does your daddy touch you at night? Does your mommy watch and provide the video? Is it being sold for $19.99 an episode on the internet? If not, then you really need to stop your bitching and move the fuck on with life. Lets think of it this way; at least you aren't me.
Take a look at my shit-storm of a life.
I'm persecuted against by my own family for being 'my own person.' You know, that shit they want you to believe when you're younger. When all the kids are picking on you and pushing you in the sandbox for eating paper or some shit and all you can do is cry, parents tell you this bullshit about how you're special and your own person and everyone else is just jealous. In reality, they should just start telling children that the other kids are picking on them because they're fucking weird. Otherwise you start growing up and living by some fake ass philosophy and then all of a sudden, instead of being 'special' and 'unique' you're 'petulant' and 'disobedient' Well, fuck you, it's too late to change me now.
My father left me alone with my crazy christian mother when I was 4 and refuses to pay for child support. The only good that came out of that situation was my excuse to cry Daddy Issues. I have really bad relationships yet I crave attention from the opposite sex. I have sex. Lots of it. Unnecessary amounts if you ask some, but what the hell do I care? Daddy! What the hell do you care? Why did you leave me, Daddy! I could have sworn the last time that I checked, I was a grown ass woman. How come you never loved me enough to stay, Daddy! I turned 19 a few weeks ago and should be more than officially at liberty to do whatever the fuck I want. Years later, after I end up in court on trial for whatever the fuck I've done, I'll just give the daddy-wasn't-there speech. That kind of shit always works.
At this point, if you asked my mother about me, I'm certain she'd tell you stories about how she is convinced that she sprung Satan from her loins 19 years ago. After my father left and I finally learned to throw a left hook instead of just taking bullshit from others for being so different, I had officially grown into my own. Staying out all night. Getting into clubs. Tattoos, piercings, anything that helped show the world who I was and express the real me. And that was all before I had turned 16. My mother tried her best to bring me to church and I allowed her. Those church boys are really something. And then one day I was found with a hand down my pants behind a pew and that was the last time I got taken to church. She just decided to beat me over the head with the bible from the comfort of our own home. Comfort. Right.
It never really got through to me after all that time. I was on the train then for the simple fact that I had gotten kicked out of my house. The demon child kicked out by the religious mother for being the person she was taught to be be all through her youth. I call myself a free spirit. Peace and love, right? She just called me a whore. And a slut. And a tramp. And the devil. Get out of my house, devil! Get out of my house! All because she caught me in my room with some guy. I say 'some guy' because I honestly don't remember what the fuck his name was. Sam? Peter? I never bothered to ask, in all honesty. All I had to ask him was if he felt like having some fun and all of a sudden we were back at my house. An hour of you being inside me does not mean that I need to learn your name. That's the reason I went back to my place in the first place. After all is said and done, you can get the fuck out and we never have to see each other ever again.
Sadly, it never really got that far. As soon as I got my shirt off and began working on his pants, a door opened and we were flooded with light. Oops. Caught with a hand down my pants once again. I smirked a little at my joke as my mother started screaming. Leave. Leave. Don't bother packing your things, just leave. Like, shit! I can't even fuck in my own house? Seriously? Had she not been paying attention for the past few years? If only this bed had a mouth with which to speak, it would tell hundreds of dirty little stories about the things that I've done. Would you like to hear some, mother? Like that one weekend 2 years ago when you went to Vegas and I threw myself a little party... Whatever.
But do you see me complaining? No. I suck that shit up and move the fuck on. This bitch to my left? She obviously doesn't live by my philosophy. She just gets progressively louder. "Boo-hoo, Timmy broke up with me and I thought we were going to be together forever! What should I do?" Timmy probably broke up with you for a reason, I said. Timmy probably broke up with you because you're a crying little bitch who refused to give head. Am I right? You never went down on it did you.Yeah, I'm right. You see, that's your problem. Just for you and free of charge, I'll be nice and tell you what you should do to get your Little Timmy back. Crawl back home to your Timmy and do him a favor. Get on your knees, put his cock in your mouth, and just leave it there. That way your mouth is always full and he never has to hear you talk. It'll be the perfect relationship, I guarantee you and I can bet you that Timmy will feel the same way that I do.
She didn't like what I had to say. The crying gets louder and louder until it just sounds like sirens going off. Don't ask for my fucking opinion if you don't want to hear what I have to say. You know what? I don't have to sit here and listen to you whine, I say. I try my best to help you out and give you my honest opinion and you don't even bother to thank me. That's cool. This is my stop anyway. The train stops and the door dings the gravitational pull of beer beckoning me closer like a magnet. There was a bar somewhere around the corner that I wanted to take a look at.
I walked the short distance , ignoring the catcalls - "Hay, baby! How you doin'?" - and carefully stepped inside the hole-in-the-wall bar to my left. I only had about $50 on me and I needed to make it count. I walk up to the bartender and ask for a Corona. "You got I.D.?" he asks me. Do I have I.D.? Of course, I do. However, I'm only 19. Is that a problem? The one thing I learned from my mother was never to lie. The truth does not set me free in this situation though, and I am left feeling rather parched. I'm not asked to leave, but I can't buy my own drink.
What to do... what to do... There were a few other people in the bar, though none stood out to me as anyone I really wanted to talk into buying me a drink, and then I saw him. Lonely. Bedraggled. The kind of guy who never seems to get the girl no matter how hard he tries. His idea of romantic evening probably being his hand and a bottle of lotion watching Russian porn on the internet. The perfect candidate for getting me something to make this night a little better. I walked over to him, tapped him on the shoulder and bat my eyelashes a bit. Men love when chicks do that pointless eye shit.
Why, hello there sir. I'm just a poor defenseless girl with no money and nowhere to go tonight... do you think you can help me?
He looks up at me smiles a sad smile.
"Sure, come sit down," he says. "Want a drink?"
Bingo.
--------------------------
The train is dirty. The lights flicker slightly with the unreliability of florescence. On. Off. On. Off. Buzz. Its kind of dazzling in a way. One of those types of lights that can put a person in a trance if stared at for long enough periods of time. I wasn't completely there, but I was just on the verge of losing myself in the lights when I heard a sniffling. A quiet sobbing. Muttered words from the girl sitting across from me. And then my trance was gone. Now I just wanted to tell the sniveling bitch to shut the fuck up. What the hell are you complaining about? Is life that fucking hard for you? Does your daddy touch you at night? Does your mommy watch and provide the video? Is it being sold for $19.99 an episode on the internet? If not, then you really need to stop your bitching and move the fuck on with life. Lets think of it this way; at least you aren't me.
Take a look at my shit-storm of a life.
I'm persecuted against by my own family for being 'my own person.' You know, that shit they want you to believe when you're younger. When all the kids are picking on you and pushing you in the sandbox for eating paper or some shit and all you can do is cry, parents tell you this bullshit about how you're special and your own person and everyone else is just jealous. In reality, they should just start telling children that the other kids are picking on them because they're fucking weird. Otherwise you start growing up and living by some fake ass philosophy and then all of a sudden, instead of being 'special' and 'unique' you're 'petulant' and 'disobedient' Well, fuck you, it's too late to change me now.
My father left me alone with my crazy christian mother when I was 4 and refuses to pay for child support. The only good that came out of that situation was my excuse to cry Daddy Issues. I have really bad relationships yet I crave attention from the opposite sex. I have sex. Lots of it. Unnecessary amounts if you ask some, but what the hell do I care? Daddy! What the hell do you care? Why did you leave me, Daddy! I could have sworn the last time that I checked, I was a grown ass woman. How come you never loved me enough to stay, Daddy! I turned 19 a few weeks ago and should be more than officially at liberty to do whatever the fuck I want. Years later, after I end up in court on trial for whatever the fuck I've done, I'll just give the daddy-wasn't-there speech. That kind of shit always works.
At this point, if you asked my mother about me, I'm certain she'd tell you stories about how she is convinced that she sprung Satan from her loins 19 years ago. After my father left and I finally learned to throw a left hook instead of just taking bullshit from others for being so different, I had officially grown into my own. Staying out all night. Getting into clubs. Tattoos, piercings, anything that helped show the world who I was and express the real me. And that was all before I had turned 16. My mother tried her best to bring me to church and I allowed her. Those church boys are really something. And then one day I was found with a hand down my pants behind a pew and that was the last time I got taken to church. She just decided to beat me over the head with the bible from the comfort of our own home. Comfort. Right.
It never really got through to me after all that time. I was on the train then for the simple fact that I had gotten kicked out of my house. The demon child kicked out by the religious mother for being the person she was taught to be be all through her youth. I call myself a free spirit. Peace and love, right? She just called me a whore. And a slut. And a tramp. And the devil. Get out of my house, devil! Get out of my house! All because she caught me in my room with some guy. I say 'some guy' because I honestly don't remember what the fuck his name was. Sam? Peter? I never bothered to ask, in all honesty. All I had to ask him was if he felt like having some fun and all of a sudden we were back at my house. An hour of you being inside me does not mean that I need to learn your name. That's the reason I went back to my place in the first place. After all is said and done, you can get the fuck out and we never have to see each other ever again.
Sadly, it never really got that far. As soon as I got my shirt off and began working on his pants, a door opened and we were flooded with light. Oops. Caught with a hand down my pants once again. I smirked a little at my joke as my mother started screaming. Leave. Leave. Don't bother packing your things, just leave. Like, shit! I can't even fuck in my own house? Seriously? Had she not been paying attention for the past few years? If only this bed had a mouth with which to speak, it would tell hundreds of dirty little stories about the things that I've done. Would you like to hear some, mother? Like that one weekend 2 years ago when you went to Vegas and I threw myself a little party... Whatever.
But do you see me complaining? No. I suck that shit up and move the fuck on. This bitch to my left? She obviously doesn't live by my philosophy. She just gets progressively louder. "Boo-hoo, Timmy broke up with me and I thought we were going to be together forever! What should I do?" Timmy probably broke up with you for a reason, I said. Timmy probably broke up with you because you're a crying little bitch who refused to give head. Am I right? You never went down on it did you.Yeah, I'm right. You see, that's your problem. Just for you and free of charge, I'll be nice and tell you what you should do to get your Little Timmy back. Crawl back home to your Timmy and do him a favor. Get on your knees, put his cock in your mouth, and just leave it there. That way your mouth is always full and he never has to hear you talk. It'll be the perfect relationship, I guarantee you and I can bet you that Timmy will feel the same way that I do.
She didn't like what I had to say. The crying gets louder and louder until it just sounds like sirens going off. Don't ask for my fucking opinion if you don't want to hear what I have to say. You know what? I don't have to sit here and listen to you whine, I say. I try my best to help you out and give you my honest opinion and you don't even bother to thank me. That's cool. This is my stop anyway. The train stops and the door dings the gravitational pull of beer beckoning me closer like a magnet. There was a bar somewhere around the corner that I wanted to take a look at.
I walked the short distance , ignoring the catcalls - "Hay, baby! How you doin'?" - and carefully stepped inside the hole-in-the-wall bar to my left. I only had about $50 on me and I needed to make it count. I walk up to the bartender and ask for a Corona. "You got I.D.?" he asks me. Do I have I.D.? Of course, I do. However, I'm only 19. Is that a problem? The one thing I learned from my mother was never to lie. The truth does not set me free in this situation though, and I am left feeling rather parched. I'm not asked to leave, but I can't buy my own drink.
What to do... what to do... There were a few other people in the bar, though none stood out to me as anyone I really wanted to talk into buying me a drink, and then I saw him. Lonely. Bedraggled. The kind of guy who never seems to get the girl no matter how hard he tries. His idea of romantic evening probably being his hand and a bottle of lotion watching Russian porn on the internet. The perfect candidate for getting me something to make this night a little better. I walked over to him, tapped him on the shoulder and bat my eyelashes a bit. Men love when chicks do that pointless eye shit.
Why, hello there sir. I'm just a poor defenseless girl with no money and nowhere to go tonight... do you think you can help me?
He looks up at me smiles a sad smile.
"Sure, come sit down," he says. "Want a drink?"
Bingo.
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