#NORAGRETS

So, my biggest concern in life right now is that I have this basic bitch tramp stamp placed where all basic bitch tramp stamps live in shame, smack in the middle of my lower back. In the perfect position to poke out and say hi when I don’t want it to (which is always). That’s very upsetting for me you see. I’m all about #freethenipple, but it makes it very hard for me to be a confident nipple freerer when I have a tattoo round the other side that screams ‘I hate daddy’. It’s also very upsetting that that’s what my victims are seeing when they’ve got me bent over in my favourite pounding position. ‘Victims’ may be a harsh word, but I couldn’t think of a better way to put it. I toy around with these boys while they’re new and exciting, but I get bored so easily. So, I kind of think of myself like a cat catching a mouse, chasing after this stupid animal before catching him and getting to really have some fun for a while…. “oh, hey this is really fun let’s keep playing and playing and – oh shit he’s dead” *shrugs and walks off*

But most of all, it will greatly decrease my earning potential. High class escorts don’t have basic bitch tattoos.

My second biggest concern is, how the fuck do I be classy enough to earn the big bucks. How do I trick someone into letting me in one of these places where it’s a luxury to lie back 5 times a week and get your pussy licked and pampered for an hour? (I also might be being optimistic here, we all know there is a shit tonne of men out there that think pleasuring a woman means jabbing her with his pin dick and ignoring the pained look on her face. I guess that’s why those guys seek out a pretty, smiling lady who is paid to not to screw up her face at his womb raider.)

Not even once.

I think I’ve lost the brain cells that are needed to remember where I put things like my glasses or my fricken weed. I probably fried them that one time that I did meth for a year. At least I was skinny back then. I guess looking like you’re dying, with sunken grey-toned skin, and having an inclination towards stabbing your family and loved ones, is only a small price to pay to be malnourished and thin. Now I’m sitting here in bed, 15kg heavier, with peanuts resting on my tummy table and greasy fingers all over my neglected laptop.*



*That’s just an awful joke. Don’t use meth to lose weight. Or for anything. Except maybe to leave your family a bunch of money behind cos you’re dying of cancer and your teaching job ain’t payin ya shit.

I just made my first ever plunger coffee so I think that means I’m an adult now

I am definitely not an adult, but when I started going out and meeting friends for coffee instead of copious amounts of beer, I certainly started to feel like one.

In saying that, I do wish I knew how to more adult things like, managing money, remembering my fuck buddy’s name, going outside without food stains on my clothes… maybe one day. I think that stuff’s for your 30’s anyway.