basically my life can be summed up in alternating periods of Linda Belcher’s “Alriiiiight!” and Bob Belcher’s “Oh my god”
How is this so accurate?
|Dad:||Why the hell did you put a comma there?|
|Dad:||Do you even know what a participial phrase is?|
|Dad:||Omg. He's like my favorite character of all time.|
|Dad:||Who should I dress up as for the movie premier?|
|Dad:||Hey are you awake? I know it's late, but you read Animal Farm, right? Yeah. I need you to read this report. I can't tell if I am just super tired or if this is actual bullshit.|
|Dad:||Alesha wouldn't be able to spell 'definitely' right if wrote it down for her. She would fucking erase it and then write 'defiantly', because she doesn't care. I hate her.|
|Dad:||I need you to bake brownies. I lost a bet.|
|Dad:||Omg. You cannot ship me with Gilcher. You know I don't like tattoos and he's like twenty-five. And for Christ's sake, he teaches math.|
|Dad:||Omg. Gilcher said the funniest thing today.|
|Dad:||Mrs. Ashworth and I have decided to start a band. It'll be called Great Expectations.|
|Dad:||It's like you didn't read the fucking book.|
|Dad:||Okay. So this week you're reading this book I stole from Mrs. Ashworth's. It's like sixty pages long, but you'll love it.|
|Dad:||*puts books on my bed for me to read everyday and demands that I read them*|
|Dad:||My son doesn't like reading. I have not only failed him, but society. You aren't my son. Leave.|
|Dad:||Okay. So you're getting books for Christmas. All of you. I get discounts on them since I'm a teacher, and since I'm a teacher, it's all I can afford, so...|
|Dad:||Fucking standardized testing can go fuck itself in the ass.|
|Dad:||I have to teach for the required testing instead of what they really need to know.|
|Dad:||Fuck the government.|
|Dad:||Fuck the school board.|
|Dad:||Close the door.|
|Dad:||Charles Dickens was so fucking pretentious, and I hate him, but he also caused change, but he's such a Dick. Ha. DICKens.|
|Dad:||I love puns.|
|Dad:||People who say sarcasm is the lowest form of humor are assholes.|
|Dad:||Please shut up.|
|Dad:||Catching Fire was the worst book but the best movie and that feels weird.|
|Dad:||I wouldn't get so mad when you call me at school if you didn't change your ringtones to inappropriate rap music.|
|Dad:||I fucking hate Alesha. She asked what countries were apart of Austria-Hungary today and I almost told her to get out.|
|Dad:||You cannot visit my school in a dress that short. There are boys there.|
|Dad:||Barbra Parks is fucking Queen.|
|Dad:||I need you to make me a good, relaxing playlist for silent reading. I'm too lazy.|
|Dad:||If I have to watch two of my students grind on each other at one more dance, I will kill them both.|
|Dad:||They act like I care what they think.|
|Dad:||I hate homework.|
|Dad:||I have decided to become a politician.|
|Dad:||What's the one book with the guys and the one kills the other and the chick without a name who dies and the short angry man? Mouseman? Oh my fucking gosh. Of Mice and Men. I have failed.|
imathers Well the whole interaction didn’t really feel like a date—definitely not a first date at least. It was more lusty and gropey than get to know you and such.
More like a really good booty call—that came with pizza.
So the pizza guy from last night was awesome.
Good at all the things, and I don’t think I’ve ever had sex that lasted that long.
Downside–not sure if it will go any farther. Not that that is a terrible thing at all.
I got my thirst quenched, and it was very good/he was very kind.
"i can’t eat that, i’ll get fat"
"i can’t sleep in late today i have to do work"
"no i can’t watch a whole season in one go that’s lazy"
maybe i wear lipstick so that
you will see my pretty pink mouth
wrapping around a coffee cup lid
and be distracted enough not to notice
that i am intelligent and powerful;
maybe i draw my brows into high arches
so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
and overlook my spiteful glare
as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.
maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
and know that if you should try to overpower me
i walk on sharpened knives.
maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
i am really baring my fangs
waiting patiently for the day
that i sink them into your neck.
i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
you will find that these things are my armor
to keep you at a distance
so you do not step on me and shatter
my fragile control.
i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
i am turning my head
so that the fire blazing through my eyes
does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
and burn your bones to dust.
i am not your pretty girl;
i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
a forest of werewolves and wendigos
that will carve out your chest
so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths.