Last night I got dumped via text message. And it fucking SUCKED.
It’s made me think about some boys I haven’t been interested in, whom I may not have treated the best. I mean, I could have come out and been honest. I could have given them a phone call. Text messages are just so blow-offy and passive aggressive. They say the wrong thing all the time, no matter what the actual text says.
So I propose that we all adopt a new system of telling each other we aren’t interested: more of a round-table discussion type of thing. You just go to this place with a bunch of booths, you meet up for about half an hour and tell each other what’s up. Then you shake on it. Can you imagine how much better these things would be if people just did that? I mean, I guess the concern was that someone would lose their shit and fly through the roof and be a scary bitch, but in most circumstances I think it would work out pretty well.
I can confirm that this type of severance would be much more manageable than a 10pm Sunday night text message. But I guess this is what you get when you go around grinding boys’ balls into the pavement and laughing about it like a maniac. Someone comes along and grinds yours.
My inbox hurts!
Cupcake Heartbreak 
Worse than text message break-ups: carrier pigeons that deliver the devastation and then shit in your living room before flying away.
I don’t know about that, Sean. I don’t know about that.
Bird shit is easier to clean up than self-doubt.
My grandma has a great homemade recipe for getting those self-doubt stains out: seltzer water, a little lemon juice, and a whooooooole lot of gin.
Bird shit is also a good salve for ground-up balls