Something Really Bugs Me

The fuckbuddies are out.

Oh yeah, they are landing at my feet, walking up my legs, tickling my neck and ears. There is no way to avoid them—believe me, I've tried. All I have to do is walk outside and they're all over me, like Sarah Palin at an "Obama is a Socialist Muslim Illegal Immigrant" rally.

I know! Right? He's totally not a socialist.

So yeah, Florida is full of fuckbuddies. They cruise around until they spy somebody unattached and then hook up and drag each other around in active coitus, like they were born to do just this one thing forever. For god's sake, get a room, fuckbuddies! It's not like there aren't a gazillion bushes you could sneak behind for a little privacy. I see you coming and I recoil in disgust. "My eyes! My eyes!"

I give you an inside look at this immodest Central Florida couple I encountered recently outside my house, Fanny and Fred. The bigass one is, of course, the female. Nature is cruel.

So lusty clutchers, I beg you! When you're done doing that . . . thing you're doing . . . STOP! Honestly, you're so needy and clingy and—I'm going out on a limb here—co-dependent. It's pathetic. Words of advice:  relax and let go!

What. You thought I was talking about dating? Not even!

Although . . .

Nah.
|

Tweet