Women Don’t Hate Porn

Glad I can take a month long hiatus again and come back with a post about pornography. Whatever, I’m taking a break from the shitshow that is the American Political Scene… Can I just pause for a second and ask you to think about the fact that some day our children will be studying this in school? I know that’s a funny prospect in abstract but I’m serious…

I’m picturing my 15 year old self in A.P United States History class. Picturing how maniacally stressed I was memorizing all of the fucking treaties and compromises and edicts and other words/concepts I no longer remember the meaning of. Just imagine that nervous little girl, back in the classroom, with Ms. Clark asking us to write a Document Based Question (DBQ) on Donald Trump’s tweets.

“Using President Trump’s tweets, please analyze and dissect exactly which monumental events led to the outbreak of World War III.”

Seriously it sounds like I’m kidding, but this is actual history in the making and we are part of it. This could ACTUALLY be a legitimate historical question. We are the generation who elected Donald Trump into office and watched him unintentionally lambast himself using a social media platform frequented by 11-year-old fangirls. Adorable. So proud that we have a democratic system of checks and balances, really couldn’t be happier with America.

Speaking of America. I watched the first episode of a Netflix docu-series last night called Hot Girls Wanted: Turned On. It sounds sexy, and it sort of is…I highly recommend it so far. The first episode made some interesting points about the current state of pornography. The idea that women “hate porn” is a misrepresentation of how we actually view it. We don’t hate pornography; we hate the way pornography depicts sex.

I remember the moment in my life where I realized it wasn’t an “if” but rather a “how” when referring to a man’s porn consumption. Sure- there are outliers but for the most part every single man you look at either IS or WAS a regular consumer of pornography. That used to bother me back when I was young and naive and thought love was enough to make a man never want to look at another female specimen for the rest of his life… but at this point you HAVE TO realize that the moment a boy hits puberty, porn becomes a necessary ‘evil.’ Pornography is sadly our biggest form of modern sexual education.

This wouldn’t be much of an issue if average pornography gave a realistic depiction of a sexual relationship. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.

I’ve never actually sat through more than 3 to 5 minutes of pornography because it makes me physically ill. This is coming from a girl who regularly watches the Saw series and purposefully pours over Reddit lists about the “most disturbing movies EVER.” Nothing has ever irked me quite the way pornography does.

Why?

Because sex should be mutually enjoyable. Does ANY widely consumed pornography show sex that is enjoyable for women?

“But she’s moaning and screaming like she loves it?! Maybe YOU just don’t enjoy sex.” Some white, upper middle class, romper-wearing, frat bro with a wallet full of magnums he will never use or fill, might tell me.

Female porn stars are satisfying common male desire. They’re nothing more than objects in a twisted “domination” fantasy. They’re props to make a man feel like a king. It’s not anyone’s fault (I won’t go there), that’s just the type of material we’ve conditioned men to enjoy from age 13 onward. And as they get older, maybe that’s not always enough. Maybe they start watching aggressive shit like forced blowjobs and “swirlies.” The double edged sword of the Internet: For every weird fetish there’s a porno out there. For better or worse. 

Can you imagine walking into a sexual situation with a woman having viewed porn like that your entire life? (Maybe you don’t even have to imagine it, maybe it has happened to you.) How exactly are you viewing this naked woman you’re suddenly across from? Is she a person? Or is she your ticket to acting out your own version of what you’ve watched for years?

Maybe you’ll tell me “That’s different! Porn is one thing, sex is another!”

Well that woman in the porno you’re watching is no different from me. Except she’s getting miserably railed by some 40-year-old failed actor who took too much viagra. She’s worried about pretending to enjoy it and pretending to actually get off from it. She’s sick of getting her hair pulled and her face slapped. But she stopped caring about all that shit a long time ago and is just doing her job.

Women wouldn’t take issue with porn if it made us look like something other than robots designed to fulfill male desire. We wouldn’t take issue with it if it didn’t make us want to throw up after 3 minutes of watching it. We’d maybe enjoy it if it showed any semblance of our ideal sexual encounter. But since WE are not the customer, WE are not relevant. We are constantly getting the message that we do not matter.

Do you think you might be annoyed by that too?

 

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Here’s this to lighten the mood.

Great Ways to Confuse the SHIT Out Of Women

This is probably the tenth time I have attempted to write a new blog post in the last few weeks but I’m confident that this one will make it past the initial stages of me reading it, rereading it, hating it, and exiling it to the darker part of my Google Drive folders. This time I have purpose. And honestly, this one tags directly off my last post “The Games Men Play.” It’s a hybrid of a lot of different things I have written about, inspired by my personal experiences as well as the experiences of my close girlfriends.

Let’s talk about the different ways you, as a man, can confuse the shit out of a girl you are dating, banging, texting, friend-zoning, or otherwise interacting with. Because nothing can just be easy and fun these days, let’s analyze things.

1.) Ask her if you can “take her to dinner” (because you did something that annoyed the shit out of her) then make no motion to offer to pay when the bill comes.

I’m sorry, I’m all for ~equality~, but if you are the asker in this situation, and you make the specific language “take you to dinner” the assumption is that you’re paying. I don’t care if I’m a feminist who feels highly uncomfortable at all mentions of money and formalities… If you are going to “take me” out to dinner I am assuming that you are going to pay. Because otherwise I might have suggested we go do something else. The devil is in the details, dumbass… Now I’m sitting here thinking you’re a poorly adjusted dick-stick who potentially isn’t even trying to date me? Chivalry is not dead, and holding the door for me when I’m easily 30 pounds stronger than you doesn’t count.

2.) Make absolutely no physical contact with her unless she initiates it.

You know what a great way to tell a girl you like her is? Refuse to touch her. Even if you’ve been on a few dates before and sacked up enough courage to kiss her (ON THE LIPS!!!), make sure to not ever hug her or greet her in any way on the subsequent dates. She will definitely NOT be wondering if that weird joke about animals mating at the zoo she made yesterday has changed your opinion of her… She will NOT be thinking that you felt how hairy her legs are and are appalled by her physically… She will not be mentally running through all of the reasons why she is undateable. Once you have initiated physical contact with a girl on a date, you should probably continue to do so on later dates or she is going to think something went wrong. And if something DID go wrong, how about you let her know and then you can stop seeing her and confusing the shit out of her?

3.) Text her a question, then when she sufficiently answers it… Wait about an hour to respond then give a short, curt response as if you’re annoyed she’s talking to you.

I will never understand this. If you want to chit chat via text, then just fucking do it. Don’t half ass it, don’t be weird about it. I don’t have the flexibility in my work environment to sit here for 3 hours staring at my phone wondering why the fuck you responded the way you did. And guess what? I’ll probably be screenshotting whatever weird shit you said and sending it to the panel of my weirdo friends who will also offer their analysis OR just tell me I’m being crazy and overthinking it. Either way, if you would just be fucking conversationally coherent and not make me feel like the biggest DOTA playing neckbeard ever… That’d BE SWEET.

4.) Tell her you’re too tired to “get intimate” within the first month of dating (when she’s laying barely clothed next to you in bed.)

No. I will accept a lot of excuses for turning down fun times, but being “too tired” is probably the pussiest of them all. I think I was at least close to a year into my last relationship before I started using the “too tired” excuse. If you’re “too tired” and it has been less than a month, something is wrong. Something is missing. That is a red flag if I’ve ever seen one. Head for the fucking hills. Every man I’ve ever known with a healthy appetite for fun will go to extreme lengths to have that fun. Even if it means being a half awake uncoordinated, poor excuse for a sexual zombie. Even if it means putting off a couple minutes of precious beauty sleep. You little bitch.

5.) Reach out to her and let her know you’d like to meet up, then make it really impossible to ever meet up with you OR just flake on the agreed upon time.

There’s nothing I love more than difficult communication surrounding plans. Especially in this city where it’s so easy to get from place to place on time/efficiently. I never have to plan ahead of time anyway, so when you flake at the last second it’s super convenient for me! Please, if you want me to remain interested in you as a human being… Cancel plans with me as often as possible and make even the easiest coordination a nightmare for me. You’re a dude, you’re supposed to be simple to plan with. You give me a time, I show up. I give you a time, you show up. I find the typical Los Angeles man needs to make it this complicated song and dance (of course, all you aspiring singers and artists) which makes me, once again, want to put on a steel plated chastity belt and close down shop for eternity.

 

I didn’t realize until recently how much I value directness in a man. I value the man who refuses to let me be a stupid head case of a human being. I value when someone won’t deal with petty mind games, says what they mean and sticks to their word. I value the guy who quite literally tells me to stop overthinking everything because he’s being completely honest with me. 

I’m sick of playing the game constantly, expecting a different outcome, and being repeatedly disappointed. We’re all tired of it. We’re all exhausted by it, frankly. I hear other women having this conversation regularly, I have this conversation regularly, the world is having this conversation at every imaginable moment.

Bottom line, fellas, we’re people just like you. We have insecurities, we have depth, we have fears, we have needs. We’re not just going to be there to entertain you when it’s convenient for you, we’re not just going to agree with everything you say. We’re distinct and complicated and that’s what makes us dope as shit. If you think finding the “perfect woman” means finding someone who will stand by and be endlessly supportive while you enjoy your life the way you see fit… Good luck, it ain’t gonna be me and it ain’t gonna be any of the amazing women I associate with.

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Being a Single Lady in Los Angeles

Sorry I had to take a break from this for a bit because I started a new job. Fun fact, I got this job even though my (at the time, future) boss pulled up this blog in the middle of my interview and started reading a few of my posts, including my fake cover letter. The world works in mysterious ways. 

I don’t feel like I need to reiterate the fact that I am single, but for anyone who just started reading, that’s the waaaaaaay the news goes. I’m off the apps, so I’m as close to “off the grid” as you can get in 2016. Dating culture is an unsightly beast in Los Angeles, one that would have to wear a bag over its head because it would make children cry due to the sheer magnitude of its physical deformities. Why? Let’s explore:

Single women are not a hot commodity

There are plenty of us. In fact, we come in droves. I’ve met so many women I would want to date if I were a straight guy that I’ve relegated myself to a third party category of women called “Trolls named Wanda.” If you are an eligible bachelor in Los Angeles your options are limitless. You can be picky because there are a lot of amazing, badass, beautiful women out here. I would like to say I am one of them, but if you see my feet you will agree with my aforementioned categorization.

Almost any guy you meet who you might be remotely attracted to will possess one of the below major flaws:

  • Has a girlfriend: This is the most common one, tbh. You meet a guy who seems cool and fun and down to clown then you stalk him on Facebook for two seconds only to discover he’s been FBO with some beautiful model, who doesn’t even know how beautiful she truly is, for like 5 years and is on the brink of getting married to her. Yeah, nothing turns me off more than someone who is unavailable. Unless you’re unavailable AND love Dave Matthews Band. Then you’re scum.
  • Socially inept: This applies frequently to men you meet on the dating apps. They hide behind their dating profile because in reality they have no idea how to treat a woman or function in daily adult life. I dated a guy who didn’t even know how to ride a bike. And when I told him I would teach him, he was a little bitch about it. He was kind of a little bitch about everything though, so no surprise there. LA is a city full of man children with strange relationships with their mother.
  • Actor/Model/Comedian: THIS is actually the most common one. I’ll meet a guy who I’m attracted to (a tall beautiful douchebag) and then find him on Facebook where his entire page is littered with links to his personal website, inaccurate headshots, and mediocre YouTube clips from all the student films he has credits in. (AKA his ‘reel.’) I think I would be ok dating an actor if he wasn’t terrible, but I have yet to meet an “actor” who isn’t terrible. Also my ears already hurt at the idea of me dating a comedian. No one would be able to stand being around us and I probably wouldn’t think he was funny.
  • Works in some financial field: Guys who work with money are kind of the worst (sorry Will.) Especially in LA because they have a huge complex about not being in the Entertainment Industry. They make 4 times your yearly salary in a matter of months and they still make you pay for drinks on the first date. Because they are doing YOU a favor by taking you out. One of my favorites said to me “Yeah I make good money but I also work really hard for it!” Bro what do you think I do to make the SHIT money I (used to) make? Sit on my own thumb for 10 hours per day? Just because you work hard and get paid to do it doesn’t mean other people don’t also work hard and get paid in ‘experience’ and executive’s spare turds… You hairy sack of shit.

You start to wonder if you should change something drastically about yourself.

Yesterday I spent a good 4 minutes contemplating whether or not I should dye my hair blond. Of course, the answer is unequivocally HELL NO…(My skin tone is totally wrong for it.) But I feel like if I were a true “tall blond” then I could trick some guy into listening to what I have to say.

Nah, that’s not how it works. The only way a guy will listen to what you have to say is if you pretend you don’t care if he hears.

You decide you’re not going to care about it anymore, then accidentally care about it for a few minutes each day.

As much as I enjoy falling asleep to my stupid cat sleeping under my covers digging his claws into my legs, I really resent the fact that I’ve become the cat lady stereotype that everyone expected I’d be. I decide to stop giving a fuck, but then I realize something trivial, like the fact that the only person who I can look forward to cooking protein pancakes for on Saturday morning is Mary. And my cousin Nick. Both of them are better cooks than me anyway so it’ll just be like back in the day when I’d whip out the Easy Bake Oven for my family over Christmas break and they’d pity-eat my shitty Devil’s Food Cake.

Pretty sure my mom JUST threw out my Easy Bake Oven last year. We kept it around for an uncomfortably long time as a joke, then a few Christmas’s back from college I would still cook with it. I think we finally realized the entire situation was a little sad so we trashed it. I might be wrong, we might still have it.

The fortunate result of it all: you decide to work on yourself.

After fighting the good fight for the last 6 months, I have finally thrown in the towel. I am legitimately going to work on bettering myself. So many times I have told myself I would do it, but this time I really mean it: I am going to read a lot of books. I am going to become that montage in the movie where some Girl Power anthem like “Fight Song” plays and the lead reads tons of books about being a woman, works out so hard that she barfs, throws her full Kirkland wine bottles in the trash can (what a waste, at least gift them), braids her best girlfriend’s hair, and somehow becomes infinitely sexier.

A good example of this:

Please excuse the subtitles, not sure what language they are in.

Before the 3 people who read this jump down my throat for all the sweeping generalizations and stereotypes I just threw at you- I’m mostly kidding. Obviously in this city of a million something people I can’t possibly speak for the entire population. I am speaking from a set of exaggerated anecdotes and personal testimony. Because if I wrote any differently it wouldn’t be entertaining, would it?

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(my mom’s favorite movie ever.)

Things I Hate Almost as Much as Finding Dory

I know that it’s Thursday and technically this post should fall under Talk Shit Tuesday. But I’m going to do what I have done a few times before, and pretend that I’m posting this on the correct day and wait until someone calls me out for it. First person to call me out gets a slap on the face, a slap so hard that I’ll leave red finger marks across your cheek AND you’ll have to get your face removed.

No other introduction needed, here’s a list of things I hate. Things I hate almost as much as Finding Dory. And guess what? I’ll even tell you why I hate Finding Dory so much, but I’ll leave it for the grand finale.

  1. When people text me asking for a “HUGE FAVOR” then when I respond asking what it is, they don’t reply. Then I’m sitting there annoyingly curious what the favor was and why they suddenly don’t want ME to do it for them. Did they find someone better? Were they annoyed by my eagerness? JUST FUCKING TELL ME!
  2. A coworker comes to ask me questions while I’m very obviously in the middle of eating raw spinach. I might be able to forgive this when I’m eating other things, but you make me look like an idiot when I’m crunching on leaves like a fucking dinosaur and you stand there expectingly. At least this is slightly better than when my old boss used to purposefully wait until I started eating my own lunch to ask me to drive to get hers.
  3. I cut my nails too short now I’m in pain whenever I do anything. This is happening right now and it hurts to type.
  4. Someone tells me a story of something stupid I did. Seems like maybe they forgot it’s about me, and I’m super aware of it. And I don’t feel like awkwardly laughing along with them as they make me look like an ass clown.
  5. I don’t like it when people in my car don’t laugh sufficiently when I call other drivers “dick butts” on the road.
  6. I HATE that I have to be CPR certified in order to teach a kickboxing class. I really want to teach kickboxing to middle aged women and I’m super upset that I can’t bring that joy to both my life and their lives. I would totally teach them a sweet routine to Tik Tok by Ke$ha (I know she’s Kesha now)
  7. When a skirt is slightly too short and you have to pull it down with every single step you take because otherwise your vagina will flash to the planet earth.
  8. When I’m so tired that it’s really hard for me to breathe, and even harder for me to remind myself not to think about breathing because then I’ll just start obsessing over how difficult it is to breathe and then I’ll freak out like I am right now because I just wrote this.
  9. Street cleaning. In Los Angeles. Why? Why do you even pretend you’re cleaning anything? You’re just driving around with a giant toothbrush and forcing us to move our cars because you want to give us tickets. You fucking assholes. Nothing is getting cleaned.
  10. When someone drops something and you go to pick it up for them, but realize it’s way closer to them so they’re going to get it themselves and now you’re just crouched on the ground awkwardly and have to do a little dance to pretend you meant to be there.
  11. When someone tells me “You know nothing Jon Snow!” you’re not clever for using a Game of Thrones quote. In fact, I’m sure a million people say that line per day and think they’re just as clever as you, and are also wrong.
  12. I love when coworkers come up to me and ask me if I got their email. My question for them is, “Did you get a notification that the email didn’t send?” And if they say “No”  I tell them “Then yes, I got your email.” Nah, I don’t say that. But seriously, why do you need to ask me that? I obviously got your stupid email and I’ll handle it when it becomes important to me.
  13. I forget I’m wearing makeup and I rub my eyes like a sleepy old man then subsequently look like I’ve been crying and listening to “I’m Not Okay” by My Chemical Romance on repeat.
  14. My fingernails seriously hurt.
  15. The office is so cold that I have to drink tea to stay warm, meanwhile it’s like 103 degrees outside in this valley of hell.
  16. When old people get offended when you use the term “old” to describe something. Especially something that they frequently use. We get it, aging sucks and it makes everyone hypersensitive about their wrinkles.
  17. Gimmicky YouTube videos… like “How to Have Casual Sex as Explained By a Tea Party” Like… clearly the point is to get people to click because of ‘casual sex’ but then when we do click it’s a huge disappointment filled with nerdy folk (who probably never have casual sex because they can’t get any) beating around the bush, when honestly I’d LOVE an instructional video…
  18. People who whisper in my ear. Why are you whispering in my ear? It’s really creepy. Unless it’s like… a seductive situation there is no place for ear whispering. Even then, tread lightly because I am skittish and might punch you if I’m startled.
  19. People who want to tell me to do something, but instead of just telling me they casually ask passive questions until I come to the conclusion myself. How about you be direct? How about you just tell me the thing you want instead of making me play a mind puzzle with u?

 

Finding Dory. Finally, over the last few years I felt like people were finally getting over Finding Nemo. I’m not saying I didn’t like Finding Nemo, I really did enjoy it (when I was 11 years old.) But the only quote from it that didn’t become a fucking cliche because of how often people said it was “MIIIINE, MINE MIIIIINE” because those seagulls will never, ever stop being funny. Actually I take that back, that line DID get ruined. Because I’m pretty sure my least favorite coworker from Valley Fair liked to say it when she snatched up cookies in the cafeteria. Like a fucking cookie vacuum, that woman.

I want to stab Dory personally for all of the times over the last 13 years that people have said any of the following things to me:

Anything with “Grumpy Gills” in it. Bonus points if they attempt a “Dory” voice. AKA make themselves sound like a dumb idiot.

“Just keep swimming, Just keep swimming, Just keep swimming.” Bonus points if they say this when I’m really upset about something and am on the verge of tears.

“I shall call him squishy and he will be my squishy” Bonus points if the person names something stupid, like a pencil grip, ‘Squishy’ then says this line.

Anything with “Whale Speak.” Bonus points if the person does their own version of Dory’s whale speak, and continues to do it even when inevitably no one is laughing.

For the above reasons, and the fact that I hate Ellen Degeneres (and constantly hear horrible things about her as a human being, which justify my hatred), DESPITE my efforts to like her… Finding Dory is my personal nightmare. I truly look forward to the barrage of new quotes that will be cutely thrown my way as a result of this post.

 

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I Almost Exploded//Got Burnt Alive

In honor of Fearless Friday, I am gonna go ahead and nominate myself. Because the world is out to get me and it’s Friday the 13th.

I don’t know how to put this lightly, but my car caught fire yesterday. I’m not gonna sugar coat it, I almost died. The mechanic who saw the burnt up fuse box inside the hood of my car told me I was “lucky to be alive.”

What can I say? One moment you’re sitting at a shitty valley Car Wash during your lunch break innocently texting your best friend about her farts and the next second you’re walking out of the office to move your street parked car. You see it from afar, realize the headlights are on for no reason and you are 100% fucked. You then maybe turn your car keys to try to start the car and it makes the desperate clicking sounds of a tired battery. At this point, you’re sweating because you wore inappropriate clothes for the Southern California climate… You realize you are a sheltered white girl from the Midwest. You realize you know nothing about car maintenance. You don’t even know how to spell maintenance without using spell check.

Luckily, I looked like a damsel in distress. Even though I was wearing an oversized men’s thermal shirt and Chuck Taylors. A vaguely attractive man in his mid-thirties pulls over in his massive white pick-up truck to help me jump my piece of shit car. He just so happens to be a professional electrician. This sounds like the start to a bad porno. Sorry to disappoint, he was a little too short and it didn’t go in that direction.

He put the jumper cables on my car, sparks flew up… He said my car smelled like shit. Good thing I can’t smell!?!?!?! He told me the battery isn’t the problem. In his professional electrician opinion, I was fucked.

Triple A showed up this morning at my place of work. (I have one of those now, I have a job.) This time they think THEY can jump start it. He opens the hood of the car.

“Wow, this smells like shit!”

Thanks bro. He asks me to have a sniff.

“I can’t smell. Uh, I… I don’t have one-” I offer

“Nah don’t worry it’s nothing crazy just stick your face down in there.”

“Sir, I was born without a sense of smell.” I reiterate

He laughs his ass off.

He fucks around with various car parts that I don’t recognize, eventually frees open what I now know as the “FUSE BOX.” It’s where all the electrical shit in your car goes down. When he opens it up, we quickly discover that part of it was burnt to a crisp. Literally fried the fuck up.

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(IMAGE OF THE INFAMOUS FUSE BOX)

“This shit caught fire!” He essentially says “You’re lucky the whole car didn’t explode.”

Am I lucky sir? Am I lucky that the entire car didn’t explode? Because part of me thinks the car should have exploded and left me with third degree burns… I’d be an unrecognizable husk of a person and I’d finally have to discover my “inner beauty” and stop living off the benefits of being a young attractive white woman. Maybe, sir, the car exploding would have been the best thing to ever happen to me.

So we’ve established that I’m lucky to be alive, my car is fucked, and neither Mediocre Looking Electrician Bystander nor Triple A Man can do a thing to help me. Time to get the Tow Truck Man.

Tow Truck Man has to disassemble my gear shifting mechanisms so that he can put the car into neutral to get it onto the tow truck and to the shop. Tow Truck Man caught me taking a picture of him for Snapchat and definitely thinks I’m into him. I must reek of pheromones.

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So I left my car in the care of a complete stranger who vowed to take it to the auto repair shop. I called the auto shop to see if they got my car, because I can’t go there because I am a WORKING CLASS CITIZEN. The men at the shop laughed their asses off and told me they’d need to do at least “15o dollars worth of labor to figure out what the fuck is wrong with it” and that they’ll have to “tear shit apart.”

I’ll tell you what, I just got settled into my new apartment on Wednesday. I never even SAW my apartment yesterday because I am trapped in the San Fernando Valley of Death and Despair. My cat thinks I’ve abandoned him. I have bruises all over my body from moving furniture (and various other extracurricular activities.) I look like a giant parasitic worm attached itself to my anus and is sucking out every cell of my shit covered soul, little by little, growing stronger with each bit of me it consumes. It continues to use that fecal power to destroy my life. IN ADDITION to eating my soul via my butt.

I’m just kidding. But I think it’s pretty hilarious that my car caught fire and I didn’t die. Big shout out to David Valbuena for rescuing me from the valley today. Still no word on my car repairs. But the good news is that my dad did some research and found out that there were some factory recalls because the Buick LaCrosse caught fire and killed people a few times. Might have been a good thing to know. I’ve been driving around a fucking ticking time bomb for the last 3 years. Glad that the lord himself and satan almighty chose Friday the 13th of 2016 to attempt murder. There is a GOOD CHANCE my car is UNSALVAGEABLE. Which is super convenient considering I spent a good chunk of change that I don’t have repairing it last month.

In summary, who wants to help me buy a new car? I’ll let you pet my poopy death worm.