You’re “Party Bi”

Heather/Mckenzie/Sydney/Meghan, when I met you things were a lot different. Specifically, we were drunk and surrounded by bros. The first part means that I didn’t think too much about that last part. You say I’m your girlfriend on Facebook, but when we go out I’m your “friend”. You always want to make out in public. Not light pecks, you’re climbing on top of me and ramming your tongue down my throat whenever we’re surrounded by cute boys. I get you alone, and if I want anything we have to take pictures. Am In in some sort of porn reality show without realizing it? It’s like you and me alone is your ultimate turn-off. I’m reasonably sure what you want is a job as a stripper, not a relationship, and I need to lose a few pounds before I’m considered a pole. 

-Written by sparkling-decay

You’re “That Girl” At the Bar

Pleasure to meet you, Miss “Is My Pussy Showing?” However, after your bar-top gyrations, body shot administering, and a haphazard rendition of “I Love Rock and Roll,” introductions feel superfluous.  Why, you’ve been the center of attention all night!  With an entire bar full of patrons as witness to your debauchery, a handshake feels far too formal.  Yes, too formal in the way that wearing a bra was “too formal” for this particular occasion, so you took it off under your tank top.  It’s for this reason I feel as if it would be unjust to keep you all too myself.  A delicate flower such as yourself is meant to be free, blowing in the evening breeze to enchant the evenings of every presence she graces.  Or, at least whatever sloppy, drunken presence is left over once last call is announced.  May your voyages be safe, may your wisdom enlighten all you encounter, and may you always make it home with your underwear in your purse.

Your Idea of Dancing

Hey pal. Can you get your erect penis away from my skirt? I’d like to leave this club with a mild buzz and a safe ride home, not an unplanned pregnancy.

You Put Something In My Drink

Hey there slick, what’s going on with my vodka soda? I turn my back for 5 seconds and now it looks like a sea monkey habitat. Let’s not dance around the issue, dude: you’re trying to drug me and take me to your creepy dungeon/parents’ basement, right? Wow. If I knew I was eating dinner with a sex criminal, I wouldn’t have bothered wearing makeup and a nice dress. And I wouldn’t have showered. And told my friends. Or shown up at all. Actually, I’m a cop and this is a sting operation. Not really, I just wanted to see if you’d piss yourself. Annnnnd, jackpot.

GUESTBREAKER: You Made Me Feel Stupid

I’d always thought I was a reasonably intelligent human being until I met you. No, I haven’t read Plato’s Allegory of the Cave and no, I don’t understand the diagram you made to “dumb it down” for us all. Yeah, it would be nice having a boyfriend I can actually carry on an intelligent conversation  with, but not when you completely put down my opinions and back it up with the intensity of a debate team champion. What? You’re just playing devil’s advocate? I’ve got to learn to thoroughly research my opinions?  Fuck you, I don’t care if your philosophy teacher thinks you’re a genius, and playing devil’s advocate every time I open my mouth doesn’t make you clever, it makes you an asshole. But I stayed, thinking I’d probably beat him in the bedroom department, because there’s no way he can argue with my skill there. Then you preceded to DIRECT me through a blowjob, not even giving me a chance to possibly surprise you. If I wanted an education I would have gone to school, not on a date. You can take your Master’s degree and shove it up your pretentious ass.

A Guest Dealbreaker written by Niki.

GUESTBREAKER: You’re a DJ

Playing records really isn’t that hard, so, while I think it’s cute that you’ve found a creative outlet to assuage your trust-fund boredom, stop pretending to be a musician. Drums, guitar, trumpet, clarinet - those all take practice. DJing doesn’t, no matter how super-serious you look when you’re “matching beats.” Stop talking about how you’re “over Justice”, “weak-ass beats,” or how “Italians were doing it better 20 years ago.” The only differences between you and my ipod shuffle-function is that the ipod will play what I want to hear AND it doesn’t have an annoying coke-habit.

A Guest Dealbreaker written by Ryan.

Your Slutty Halloween Costume

Um, a white tube top and a white miniskirt? That’s your costume? That doesn’t make you a “sexy angel,” that just makes you sexy. Sunglasses and a bra doesn’t make you a “hot cop,” it just makes you a skank with weakened nighttime vision. And putting a sash over your underwear doesn’t make you a beauty queen, it makes you a target for a sex crime. Please drape my jacket over your shoulders so you can be “Sexy Decreased Chance of Being Assaulted.”

Your Love of Cocaine

ohmygodilovethissongtooandithinkwetotallyhavearealconnection

butyouretalkingreallyclosetomyfaceandyouregrittingyourteethand

whileyouredealingwithanosebleedimgoingtoslipoutthedoor.

You Only Drink Malternative Beverages

Sticky, artificially sweetened, tacky packaging, and leaves a bad aftertaste. Good for a go around every now and then at a BBQ or a house party, but ultimately unsatsfying.

Oh, and that shit you’re drinking is gross too.