Posted in Humor, Life, Satire

3 Ways To Let Down That Man At The Gas Station

How to let him know you can’t love him like he deserves

A man smiling at a woman at a gas station.

I am a creature of routine. Every morning, I stop at the same gas station on the way to work to get my coffee or snacks or gas. Yes, I know this is a frivolous expense. I decided to cut corners elsewhere, OK? Back off.

Anyway, let’s get back on point. At the same gas station, there’s a man who thinks I am the love of his life. Well, he thinks I am and every other woman that comes in there is, too.

I’m not sure if he’s drunk or on crack or just extremely horny. Regardless, he doesn’t seem to want to take no as an answer. I have tried letting him down gently and I have tried telling him to f**k off. Nothing will throw this man off of his intense mission to find a mate at the Circle K.

My first attempt to shake him off went like this. He moseyed up behind me as I waited in line at the gas station, Cheezy Puffs in hand. He got extremely close to me standing in line and I could smell his beer breath on my neck. Every woman’s favorite.

He put his ice cold, forty ounce Natural Ice on my back, which was showing at the top of my dress, causing me to jump and yell, “Fucktard!” He then proceeded to apologize and segued straight into asking me if I wanted to fornicate behind the dumpster. Has there ever been a more beautiful moment?

But, alas, I was/am married. I just asked him, “Who the hell do you think you are?” Before he could answer, I scurried off to my job as this happened at 7:30 in the morning.

Take 2

He tried again a week later. This time, it was right after work. I popped in to buy a bottle of wine and a lottery ticket. I finished my transaction and was about to walk out the door when I heard him slur, “Hey, girl! You want to give Daddy a dollar?”

I looked around, but saw no one who seemed to be his father. At this point, I started to get annoyed. I mean, who pretends to beg for his father? Still, being the southern lady that I am, I just told him to fuck off and went about my day.

Take 3

About a month later, I popped into my gas station and this time I was in a bad mood. Picture the witch song from The Wizard of Oz playing as I walked in. It was definitely playing in my head. I was in a straight bitch mood. Which kind of excuses me from my behavior when Dingleberry hits on me again.

This time I can’t remember what he said exactly. I do remember he smelled like beer, pork rinds, and body odor. I just brushed past him, saying, “I’m married, but I’m only attracted to turtles anyway so you will never have a chance.”

I was such a bitch.

Take 4

The next day. I was back and I felt bad. I also felt disgusted. This guy was starting to get on my nerves. I told him I was married, but he didn’t care. I didn’t go to the gas station to get harassed.

I walked in and got my coffee. I stood in a small line waiting my turn to check out. I checked out.

Looking around, I didn’t see him, hear him, or smell him. Growing concerned, I looked around and left.


I have been back for thirteen days straight trying to find this drunk lunatic. I would like to tell him he doesn’t have a chance with me. I would also like to slap him for making me worry. Where is he? Is he okay? Is he thinking about me?


Posted in Family, Humor, Life, life lessons, Satire

A Tragic Breast Story

The story of when my Aunt’s nipple fell off

My family has extremely bad luck, but most of us have two nipples

Canva

I never thought I’d write about my Aunt’s nipple. At least, I’m not writing about my Uncle’s testicles. Yet.

This story has been passed around more than my high school best friend since this incident happened. People at bars have heard it. People at church have heard about it. I created a children’s book about it and read about it to my son’s kindergarten class. OK, well, maybe I didn’t do that. Yet.

I will preface this story by saying that my Aunt, my Mother’s sister, was very sexually active back in her day. She continued to be sexually active long after her day passed, also.

Breast cancer runs in our family and has caused many tragic, untimely deaths. So, in an effort to be proactive against cancer, my Aunt had a double mastectomy. She went ahead and had reconstructive surgery soon after and had those puppies lifted and enhanced.

Fast forward a while later. This is where things get foggy. I’m not sure if it was eight weeks or eight years, but she had taken her bra off during the night and her nipple fell out of her bra onto the floor. She reportedly yelled, “Shit!” out loud.

Honestly, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I can probably say that I wouldn’t have gathered my nipple up, set it aside for the night, and worried about it the next day.

Maybe she didn’t worry about it the next day despite what she says. Because to date she still does not have a nipple on one side. Yolo, I guess.

I may be the black sheep, but there’s a herd of us in my family.




Posted in Content, Humor, Ideas, Life, Satire, Uncategorized, WTF

What Is Anal Bleaching?

And more importantly, why does it exist?

A firm and bleached buttocks.
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I don’t care if my butthole color offends anyone. You read that correctly. Bleaching one’s butthole, aka spinchter, is now a thing.

Now, not only do we have to groom ourselves meticulously in our nether regions but we also are being pressured to bleach our anuses. Well, I guess we don’t have to. Because I’m not going to. There is no beauty standard or ideal worth much pain or effort for me at this point in my life. Much less a sudden standard about my butthole color.

What is anal bleaching?

I am so glad you asked. Butthole bleaching is the process of dying your asshole so it is lighter than the color you were born with.

Why bleach your anus?

I don’t know. You tell me. I guess there’s also self-esteem issues regarding the color of one’s sphincter. Your guess is as good as mine.

I would love to be informed if this is somehow deemed medically necessary. If I find out anyone’s insurance actually covers this, I quit. I quit everything.

The procedure

I am not ashamed to tell you that I researched this vigorously. You can buy a cream to do this yourself or you can go professional and get it done at a place that actually does sphincter bleaching. Either way, you will use a cream that is most likely cancer-causing just to make your butthole blend in with the rest of your skin.

I just want to know why this is not a disorder of some kind. Are mental health professionals not concerned?

So, if you, or someone you know, actually plans to spend their hard earned money to have their butthole bleached, please email me. I will give you my cash app info. At least that way your money will be going towards a good cause. The good cause being anything other than a butthole bleaching.

Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, if you or anyone you know, enjoys a butt bleaching, please do not let me know. That’s weird AF.