me: i really need to talk this out with someone
my anxiety: ur coming off needy. isolate urself and handle it. all u need is U!
Dear Future Girlfriend,
I’m going to make you a sandwich.
This seems retarded, right?
See, to most guys, it’s usually the other way around.
But no. I’m not like that.
I want to prove to you that I’m not like the sexist guys out there in this world.
You don’t belong in a kitchen, because you belong in my heart.
Sincerely,
Me.
The year is 2022. You’re driving home from work, wifey calls & asks you to get some diapers for the baby. You grab roses for her. Life’s good. She’s crying in the closet you forgot the diapers what’s she gonna do with roses idiot there’s shit everywhere this is why your parents never loved y
The year is 1351. You’re driving your ship home from work, wifey calls and sends you to the local store to get some rags as diapers for the baby. You grab a bouquet of flowers for her too. Life’s good. You both die from the plague
The year is 2020. You’re driving home in your tractor after voting for Trump, the man of your people. Your sister calls and asks you to get some diapers for the baby you bought from the Walmart parking lot last week. You steal roses for her on your way out. Life’s good
The year is 2068. You’re staring at the most beautiful stranger. She explains to you that she’s your wife. You have dimentia. You smile and take her hand as your grandchildren jump around the room. You’ve lived a good life. Suddenly you’re staring at the most beautiful stranger
Anyway I’m back on my bullshit
The year is 2019. Your fiancé just got you roses in your big house with 3 cars and 5 dogs. You did all this to tweet it with “We’re only 19, what are you doing with your life?” You got 5 retweets. He’s been buying roses instead of food for weeks. You can’t cook. You haven’t eaten in 3 days
The year is 2018. You’re scrolling through Tumblr and you see a post by none other than thebootydiaries. “Goals”, you think to yourself. Yes, this was it. What you’ve been waiting for. Your entire life has led up to this. Your fingers shake as you type your comment. “Goals.” You hit reblog as you’re trembling, the chair squeaking ever so slightly. “I can’t wait to forget diapers, and have dementia.” You sigh. “And buy a house, dogs, and cars. And…and…” goosebumps race through your entire body. “And get the plague.”
assert your dominance by calling your friends by their student ID number
Listening to drake at the gym, people think this is sweat rolling down my face but it’s actually tears
Not to sound too millennial but who the fuck would get off a plane to their dream job in Paris for Ross fucking Geller
