Undies man returns home. I heard keys jangling but I couldn't get my shit together in time to bolt upstairs to my room. I was hope hope hoping it wasn't stupid Undies but unfortunately, it was.
I did everything I could to make him realise I was not interested in engaging in any form of communication. I did not look at him. I pretended to read the paper, while also being on facebook and texting Al. But the Pigdog Undies Bastard just kept yammering away. AND THEN even more arrogant pigdog of him asks me if I'm okay and coping because I haven't seen him for two weeks. AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR. I was all uuuummm bumhead I am surviving quite well without seeing you fuckbrain.
Then he goes on about how he fixed all these things in the flat and how we were all pathetic at fixing things and that was it okay that he was the man of the house who fixes things because he's so good at fixing things. FUCK OFF AND DIE FUCKING UNDIES MAN
Showing posts with label pigdog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pigdog. Show all posts
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
He is a pigdog
I'm not sure why women are with men that are so clearly beneath them. Take for instance why Mr L who has propositioned her cousin for a threesome when she slept over on their sofa, constantly makes sexual remarks at any of her female friends in inappropriate circumstances (eg over dinner at a wedding reception... yes while sober so he should definitely know better), who talks about the way I orgasm when I eat his cooking (ew ew ew ew EW on so many levels)(and he is an OK cook but it's me being socially polite in telling him he cooks well because he constantly talks about how well he cooks) droning on about how there must have been some guy under the table pleasuring me I was so into his cooking.
Maybe it's because women like me are too nice and scared to tell a friend the man they love is a fucking bastard cheating pig dog who doesn't know how to cook puff pastry (and yes we all sat through eating the half raw pastry while he's pushing us to eat seconds and thirds which I politely decline).
He's still all puffy as though he's god's gift. To me, he's a pigdog.
Maybe it's because women like me are too nice and scared to tell a friend the man they love is a fucking bastard cheating pig dog who doesn't know how to cook puff pastry (and yes we all sat through eating the half raw pastry while he's pushing us to eat seconds and thirds which I politely decline).
He's still all puffy as though he's god's gift. To me, he's a pigdog.
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