Life Of A Fuck-Up

Tele-buddies and A 'What The Fuck' Four

CHAPTER FOURTEEN [F-U#14]

So, before you bitches get mad at me, I'll admit, it was such a fucking cool idea. Ok, now you can get mad at me.

"Can you pass me the ketchup?"

"It's under your fucking pits."

"Oh, thanks!"

Alright, alright! Let's fucking rewind before you throw me off a fucking cliff, darlings. For one, I just so happen to get wrapped (get it? Because of the burger-) into this situation. Me, being your one and only shigamabob, was heading towards A-Four for my scrumptious date with Toll.

Yes, I've been watching 'Hell's Kitchen' again. (damn you, Gordon) And yes, I planned on going with only my underwear and a rose clenched between my ass cheeks. What? It's fucking fashion. Haven't you fuckers seen the runway where they put fucking people as clothes? THEY WERE LITERALLY HANGING ON LIKE EXTRA PAIRS OF DICKS!

I swear, I'm not making this the fuck up. And even if i was, I'd be one of the models. (imagine hair flips darlings, imagine hair flips) Moving on, besides hanging dicks and modern fashion, when i dived out of the window earlier, I was supposed to head my way. Instead, like always, I'm life's fucking favorite because a car came swerving my fucking way and i got hit.

Crash!

Oh, but don't worry! (doubt you are. You're all probably cheering right now) I wasn't totally hit! Maybe a strand of hair on my unshaven leg was. Since i fucking felt some air rush through me.

Oh, the little chick probably didn't make it though.

Crash!

So, two things were learned from that life-learning fucking experience. Number one, is that i need to fucking shave darlings. Like holy fuck they are prickly as a cacti. I tried to put on my clothes and my finger got pricked like fucking Aurora. And the second is that, apparently, life doesn't appreciate rose clenching techniques. (And don't worry your fucked heads, I know that you're all more fucking concerned about the small chick than me. Trust me, even if it means suicide, I am too)

So En, why the fuck is your near-death related to anything we should be mad about?

Well, here's the fun part, darlings! After that trivial event that took place, and the poses i made for the whole country of cellphones, I went into a clothing store (totally not 'H&M') and bought some fan-cay clothing that definitely wasn't from Big turd's wallet. No, I'm serious, it wasn't. DARLINGS, I'M FUCKING SERIOUS, IT WASN'T!

I'm not that bad of a person! Scratch that, I'm not that bad of a hot piece of boiled peanut.

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Alright, I'll stop.

SIKE! I'LL NEVER STOP! NEVER! (Cue, the evil cackle darlings. Oh, and the elongated 'never' word. Remember our fucking lessons bitches, remember it)

Glad we got that out of the fucking bag, darlings! And we're going off of the tracks. Damn, I feel like life is trying to distract me from telling you bitches my story! Well, wouldn't be the first time. Remember that time when- (to be continued...)

I know you bitches are saying 'Three hours later' in Spongebob's narrator voice! You can't hide it from me!

So anyways, buckle up and grab your nearest neighbor because they're going to be used as stress balls when you fuckers hear what the fuck happened next. (Oh yeah, baby!)