Skip to main content

Role Play.

Let's play a game,

You and I.

I'll be Sid and

You'll be Nancy.

I'll be Ike;

You'll be Tina. 

Let's Get Kinky:

I'll be Bobby;

You be Whitney.

I'll be Rick for a while;

You can be my Teena Marie.

Oh honey don't you worry,

Don't be afraid of little old me.

You'll get laid by candlelight;

I'll have you scared of 

the dark before you lose

your bubbling spark. 


  1. What made you so obsessive?

  2. you know how guys think with their cock? Same principle; different organ.

  3. Really? I was thinking more along the lines of amorous narcissism judging by your preoccupation with wealth, your failed relationships, and your use of physical appearance to draw attention to yourself.

    Does any of this seem appropriate?

    * P - provocative (or seductive) behavior
    * R - relationships, considered more intimate than they are
    * A - attention, must be at center of
    * I - influenced easily
    * S - speech (style) - wants to impress, lacks detail
    * E - emotional lability, shallowness

    * M - make-up - physical appearance used to draw attention to self
    * E - exaggerated emotions - theatrical

  4. Dear Coward,

    I'm flattered that you take the time out of your day to let me irritate you.

    With that being said: Why don't you stop reading my garbage and gobble a dick? I feel like that might be a more appropriate activity for you.


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Can't Hear Your Little Red Rooster


I call this room Home.

He will not look at me

His eyes flicker with

a speck of violence.

my strained smile,

disgusted by

my pleading eyes.

my veins freeze

icy blood

tearing through coronaries

May Day

'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…