Dear Fuckboi: A TomTord Satire

pasta bitch

It had been two days since the brawl.

Tom beat the everloving shit out of Tord, of course, because Tord is the worst and stinkiest boy, and the stinky boys always lose. They both returned home, battered and bruised, to probably talk to each other again at one point, because the plot called for it.

Tom, who had been swamped with homework because he fell asleep during class, had Tord as a personal motivator. That dumbass kept taunting him about being home schooled, and how he had let Tom win. Tom hurried through the homework so he could go to sleep and have some blissful hours without Tord. At one point, Tord got bored and began to ramble prayers to Gene the emoji.

Tord knew Tom was listening, because he really did not want to do his homework. Tom simply hoped that enough brain cells would die while he listened to Tord that he'd just drop dead.

"...and my favorite couple is Gene x Hi-five, because Gene x Jailbreak felt rushed, and there was really no chemistry between the two. Plus, another heteronormative couple is boring. I, like a dumb shit teenage girl, prefer to make all my ships gay, because that's cool for some reason. Straight people are boring, haha!" Tord just wouldn't shut the fuck up.

"But Tord, you're straight," Tom said blankly.

"Nuh-uh, I'm actually bisexual, but I like girls a lot more than guys."

"Would you have sex with a guy?"

"No."

"Would you date a guy?"

"No."

"Would you kiss a guy?"

"No, that's all fucking gay. What do you think I am?"

"You're straight, dumbass. You're just putting labels on yourself to make yourself seem special."

Tord sighed and tugged at the sleeves of his pink sweater. He had found it in the women's section, just like all his clothes.

"I think emojis have torn us apart," Tord thought aloud.

"Apart? There was nothing to tear us apart from. But yes, although I am repelled by you, I'm even more repelled by your... religion."

"My religion is a religion of peace, Pussybitch."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Out of the blue, Tord asked, "What do you think happens when we die?"

"Nothing. Remember what it was like before you were born? It's just that. Nothing."

"How melancholy."

"What about you?"

"I've told you. Emojis."

"Oh yeah, you're a loyal believer in emojis."

"Of course."

Tom yawned and put his homework into his bag. Tord turned off his lamp, the one with the Emoji Movie lampshade. Tom took one last glance at Tord, before decided on the perfect nickname for the mentally disabled boy.

"Night, Pussybitch."

"Night, Fuckboi."

---

"Tom, come get the mail!"

Tom almost screamed out loud. No teen should get up this early. He rolled out of bed and made the trek downstairs. His mother rolled by as he approached the door. There was a faded, white envelope with a wax seal.

Fucking finally, Tom thought sarcastically. My invitation to Hogwarts has arrived. Sayonara, Fuckboi.

Tom returned to his room with the tacky letter and opened it. There was a bent up sheet of paper inside, and it looked as though it had been dipped in some sort of fluid and then dried out. Some chicken scratch handwriting covered the page.

Dear Tom,

I'm writing this anonymous letter to tell you that I hate you, and that I can totally beat you in a fight.

I guess you could say I'm your secret adversary. Since I don't want you catching me by surprise, I'll tell you this in letter form. Now I have the element of surprise, you see. Watch your back, bitch.

Reasons why I hate you

Your stupid haircut that makes you look like a knockoff Super Saiyan

Your smile that makes you look ten times uglier. Seriously, stop smiling. I can hear babies crying when you smile.

How you constantly give the hundred yard stare. Dude, stop, I hate your void eyes enough. You should be in a freak show.

                               Hate,

                                            F.B

F.B...

Fergie? Felicia? Felix the cat?

Tom tapped his chin in thought. Who could've sent this? Who was so filled with hate for him? He needed to tell someone.

"Hey, bitch." Tom tore his curtains from the wall. Dammit, that was the third time this week. Tord was pacing behind his window. When he saw Tom, he immediately hopped onto his seat on the ledge.

"Why hello, bitch squared," Tord greeted.

"Great news, dude."

Tom showed him the letter he had just received. Tord read it over a few times, then threw it back to Tom. Tord raised an eyebrow.

"Secret adversary?"

"Looks like someone hates me more than you do. Haha, you're second place!" Tom said, pointing a mocking finger at Tord.

"It's hilarious to think that someone could hate you more than I. Who is this mysterious person?"

"Don't know, don't care. Oh, what if it's a girl!? What if this turns into an epic love story!? With a twist that she actually loves me!" Tom was excited at the thought of this, and he threw the letter in the trash can.

"I bet your jealous," Tom teased.

"Of what? Knowing someone wants me dead?"

"No, that someone cares enough to write a threatening letter to me."

"Why would I be jealous of that?"

"Cause nobody cares you that much, dumbass. You'll never be hated or loved!"

Tom grabbed his window ready to pull it shut. Tord mischievously grinned to himself.

"Right. Just you wait, perhaps your hater will be a big surprise," Tord said, fiddling with a switchblade that was out of Tom's view.

"Night, Fuckboi."