Don’t Let The Door Hit You On The Way Out, 2012

So I’d say 2012 was a bit of a dating challenge. I’ve been stood up, asked none-too-politely by a One-Night Stan to GTFU, relegated to the dreaded friends zone, and even had the most craptastic of addictions, being strung out on dick.

One guy I’ve neglected to mention, because he just slipped in under the wire before 2012 gave its last dying gasp,–let’s call him Magic Mike. He appeared out of nowhere, when I wasn’t looking, didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything, just at a random party with a couple of free drink tickets that I was aiming to pound and hopefully score some more. Suddenly, he swept in and gave me a right good verbal fucking. What do I mean by this? Not the boring “OMG U R SO HOT I WNA LK UR PSSY” of sexting. (Soooo 2012, BTW.) No, much hotter – he told me everything I wanted to hear, and then some. We clicked. We were on the same wavelength, dude. We were intellectual and creative equals, kindred spirits in a world bereft of real artists like ourselves. Nauseous yet? Whoo-ee! I wasn’t. I was getting OFF. Finally, someone who UNDERSTANDS! Someone who GETS ME! Someone who is turned on by my MIND, not just my–Uh, what? You want to feel my tits? OK, that’s cool…tell me about Albrecht Duerer again?

So Magic Mike disappeared in a puff of smoke, never to be seen or heard from again. He could have indeed been a figment of my imagination, save for the strange markings I found the next day (I believe they’re called “hickeys.”) A suitable ending to 2012, as far as I’m concerned. Nothing is meant to last; it’s all just grist for the mill, to keep me on the pursuit of peen, if for nothing else but for your reading enjoyment. And I’m happy to serve, y’all, I’m happy to serve.

Wishing all you sexy bitches a Happy New Year!!!

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