Wednesday, September 09, 2009

Have I told any of you that EX is a complete and utter pussy? Not a sweet, tight, clean pussy that glistens in the sun light and smells like lilacs on a crisp, Spring day. No, he's the kind of pussy that oozes herp juice and aborted fetuses. He's the kind of pussy who's stench could melt the skin off of your face. The kind the medical world will eventually need to study. The kind that has been so used and abused that you could fit a 747 in it's lips. The kinds that requires a weed whacker, protective goggles and a tarp. Have you picked up on the fact that he hasn't returned my calls? He hasn't commented on the utter destruction I left in his house. My emails, nothing there either. No, he's hiding. He's scared and that is the only redeeming quality he has at this point. Brains.

I love a good confrontation and I especially love to point out a spineless dick cheese when he slips up and reveals he's not the decent guy I've been given his credit for. I think that's what pisses me off the most. I'm irritated that he cheated on me with that blow up doll the state is allowing to pass as a real live woman. But more than that I'm pissed that he got one over on me.

For all of those who have been following me for all these years you know I am not a fan of commitment. Boyfriends make me nauseous and the mere mention of being a "couple" requires cream for the hives I inevitably get. I let this guy in, even got ENGAGED for a period of time. I bought a house with him. I let his underwear touch mine in the laundry. I listened to his sing Rush songs while he played video games. I gave voluntary oral at least 4 times a week. I allowed him to call me sickening names like "Honey" and "baby" and I didn't flinch once. That's unheard of in the world of Steph.

I don't care that we broke up. I care that I spoke so highly of him after the fact. I care that all this time a little part of me felt guilty for not being the kind of warm and fuzzy chick I thought he deserved.

Now I want slit open his ball sacks, let the contents spill to the floor and demand his big tittied girlfriend suck it up like she was getting paid.

8 comments:

Jules said...

Couldn't have said it better.

Organic Meatbag said...

This shit was positively poetic... gut those nuts like a salmon...it will be cathartic for you...

Memphis said...

So, just out of curiosity, whats the status of Patrick's marriage? I mean, considering what happened about an hour before the ceremony, I'm guessing he's probably single again. Just wondering. I never got to hear the end of that story cause you went on hiatus.

fingers said...

Well on the one hand I'm gutted that you're not the Steph I was looking for...but on the other hand you're quite hilariously brilliant.
Excuse me while I go and rifle through a couple of older posts in order to get some kind of handle on the extent of your illness...

Steph said...

Memphis- Haven't talked to Patrick. Last I heard he's still married. But the last time I got an update was probably almost 2 years ago and it was from a somewhat unreliable source, so I have no clue. Wow. Haven't thought about him in a while.

Fingers- I'm sorry for not being the Steph you were searching for but I can assure you I'm better

Glenn said...

You are not the Steph I was looking for either. I can't say you are better. I haven't seen you nakid yet. Then I am sure I will be able to see you are MUCH better

Steph said...

Glenn- I can promise there will be nekkidness. Sadly for you you'll just have to resign yourself to whatever mental images you can conjur up

Steph said...

Yes, I concur, you are indeed better!!
One day I hope to spew forth vitriol with as much passion and spirit as your good self.
I've always been a fan of testicular mutilation, and you describe it so eloquently.