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Dear Dickhead Who Hurt My Friend

28 Feb

* Start rant* 

I am fed up of players and slime balls. I am. They suck. Ass.  Really. I honestly despise men who think a woman is nothing more than a walking pair of tits adorned with an ass.

Gentlemen, there is nothing fun about walking down the street and having to listen to someone shouting some profanity in your direction. Making remarks is one thing, but some guys are downright rude. It raises my blood to a boil in no time and it makes me want to bury my Havaiana & foot deep into your crotch.

The same counts for men who pretend they are ruled by the mind and heart and soul, while they are actually thinking with their winkies. Or with their ‘small head’ as my American host mom used to joke.

These men offer you a drink, compliment you on your eyes (*sigh*), and ask you things that make you believe these men are in fact interesting in what you do / have to say. They show compassion with sick little puppies, tell you how much they enjoy cooking / gardening / hiking / community work and throw in a full assortment of clichés (“I love kids”, “I love my mom”, etc). In other words, they make you believe that they are God’s gift to women in every sense of the word.

You swap numbers and he smses everyday. You decide to go on a couple of dates, and become rather smitten with this lovely individual. Not too long later, you are invited over for dinner at his place. You eat, you laugh, you kiss. And then, all of a sudden, his hands are everywhere you don’t want them to be. You politely push them away, and joke about it. You end up declining the offer to stay over, and go home at the end of the evening.

And then you stop hearing from him. Radio silence de Luxe.

This is exactly what happened to one of my dearest friends, a beautiful girl with a ditto heart and a magnificent set of brains.

Well, guess what Mister Giant Whorebag of Note: the fact that my lovely friend accepted your drinks and dinners and what not, did not entitle you to a one-way ticket to her bed. Oh, and next time you send a degrading sms (“No man. She wasn’t up for it, so I am moving on. Next, ha ha!”): Check to whom you send it before you press the green button.

So help me God: if I find ever bump into you, you would do well to prepare your ‘little head’ for a up-close and personal encounter with my flipflop.

That is all.

*End rant*

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Posted by on February 28, 2012 in Stuff that Pisses Me Off, The World of Mir

 

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