Boys and girls, here’s my piece for this week over at Conceited Crusade. I used to be married, kind of. Here’s the divorce story. Probably wrote this because I listened to too much Drake today.
So, young man: will you ever get married.
Well I already was, when I was 25. Kind of. We had a yellow house in a clean neighborhood for white people. With a little Maltese Yorkie. Identical sexual encounters every eight days or so. Married except for the rings, but those don’t mean anything. Marriage is just rings and a party. If you look at the full scope of human history then marriage as we know it was invented last week, almost. No rings, but we were married.
She was southern. Kind of tall and had played volleyball, made good seasoned chicken and bought me books. I was her first time. I didn’t love her. I liked her a lot for the first two weeks and then all of sudden I didn’t, but I lacked the testicular fortitude to say that, and so I just kept doing the wrong thing for…
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