PARTY DIP Walter Mackey
The best way to feel pain is to inflict it entirely upon yourself.
That awkward moment when you stupidly stream Netflix and porn on your phone for two months and you can't afford to pay your bill because it's something outrageous, like $2000, so you go home to visit your parents and ask to get added to their bundle package; spending the entire time worrying about how you were going to get by without those early morning texts.
I swear I'd lick the brush just to tar myself like you.
I don't think you'd be one of those people that fills out a 'favourite quotes' section of an online profile and instead of posting famous quotes, only posts quotes both you and your friends have said. To be 100% honest with you, I don't think I've ever read your Facebook profile. I don't care enough to check either.
On the way to a Grindr hook-up, I did nothing but listen to Lana Del Rey, stare at my hands, and compose text messages that I meant to send to you but kept deleting on purpose.
I want you naked in my bedroom, wearing nothing but your toque while playing your bass guitar without an amp.
I won't say that I don't miss you because we have to pretend that we platonically like each other but the painkillers are making what I feel for you turn all fuzzy and now there's some fluidity to this 'like', that has the potential to freeze into 'love' or evaporate into 'hey brah' in the form of a text message every three or four days.
You're drinking stolen eggnog in a convenience store and I'm eating a pickled wiener in the middle of my kitchen, on the floor. I'm glad we're so festive.
Tonight, I told another man that I like him and although I know you won't care, I kind of want you to.
I thought about giving you head and after about a minute or two, I got hard, and normally giving head doesn't get me off but I think it's because I was imagining myself giving you head from a thirdperson perspective and the thought of this turns me on even more.
I had a dream where I leapt from a roof and before I hit the ground, your face flashed through my head and I still kept falling, but I guess this isn't all about me.
'I fink u freeky'.
I dipped a potato chip into some homemade party dip and thought, 'I wonder if [he] would like this' but then realized I've only ever heard you talk about chicken fingers, poutine, potato wedges and expensive stolen drinks from a convenience store, so probably not.
We're both really weird.
I like when you send me texts at 3 AM which consist of Lana Del Rey, Nicki Minaj or Die Antwoord lyrics and I'm not sure if they're in or out of context and that's okay.
Congratulations. You have just survived the apocalypse and nothing has changed.
I want to tell you those three special words, but I never know when is the right time so I guess now is better than never, right?
The Shopping Channel.