Molly

She got on fucking birth control for him. Fucking right away. And she told me it was— she told me she had to go to the doctor and it was some medical condition but that’s fucking bullshit. She did it for him. She did it for him and she wouldn’t do it for me. Fucking twat. She’s going to get fat. She’s going to be fat with small tits and she has horrible teeth. Her incisors splay out on top of her— what the fuck, her other incisors, Jesus— this is hard, I’m not a fucking dentist. Her two very front teeth splay out on top of her two second-from-frontmost teeth, they kind of—they collapse toward each other in the middle. It’s like an old paperback book open in the middle. And they’re yellow. She’s really white and her teeth are really yellow and she gets zits sometimes and she drags her teeth when she blows you and I don’t understand why this dude is going out with her. And she doesn’t fucking drink and is extremely doctrinaire about Alcoholics Anonymous and is constantly going to meetings and then has to come home and be with her hideous, annoying pets and her house smells like cat shit. I have one cat, and he’s quiet, attractive and sleek. And he shits outside. If your pets are ugly I feel sorry for you. But then, maybe this new guy is my cat and I’m her cat, in terms of attractiveness.

She’s fat and stupid and I hate her but she has such pretty eyes. And a great sense of style. And she’s just generally fun to be around. And if her being fat bothered me I guess I wouldn’t be boning a bunch of other much fatter chicks.

Anyway, she got on birth control for him. Because she loves him and she didn’t love me. She probably sleeps with him all the time; she would never sleep over here. Fucking twat. Die, die, die, you horrible stupid twat. Also, get back together with me.