I used to place a lot of personal ads just for kicks back in the day. My friends would be like, “Please to be stopping whoring yourself, you’re going to get kilt.”
But it was FUN and THRILLING you guys. I used to love to meet new people back then, and it would usually always be in a group setting.
This one time however, I got brave. I told some dude, “Hell yeah, come up to my love palace, let me interview you to be my friend.” (Because you see, I had a boyfran, I was just looking for a boy that was a fran.)
(Sorry, I’m distracted because the episode of Degrassi where the princifuck calls Claire a bitch is on and I had to stop to yell into the other room, “Can you BELIEVE that shit??”)
Anyway, this dude rolls up to my crib and suddenly I feel like maybe this guy could be dangerous, how the hell would I know, I don’t dole out criminal background checks. So I don’t answer when he rings the bell.
I still don’t answer.
He knocks harder.
I crouch down in the shadows of my living room.
He begins banging and yelling, “I know you’re in there! You invited me over! Let me in!”
I retreat to the bathroom and hide in the shower.
He lingers for awhile, probably rubbing one out on my patio, hollering about me being a bitch tease.
He starts dragging something across my bedroom window and it goes SKEET SKEET and sends corresponding chills up and down my vertebrae.
And then he killed me.
No, he totally didn’t.
Sometimes I really kick myself for not opening the door. He might have been holding a beautiful bouquet of perrenials in his Freddy Krueger hands.
Shit I wish I could remember that bastard’s name. I’d like to send him a Christmas card. Facebook him, even.