I apologise, I wrote the below post while incredibly drunk and have no idea what I’m on about.
Dear reader, full disclosure. I’ve just been thinking about the woman of my dreams in the context of my next (also, context is everything, generally speaking. Think about it). And want to juxtapose.
Because you’ve read this far and therefore fuck you. You like me. Keep reading.
- Candy. Was in love with. For the first time ever. Taught me how to kiss and how to put a scotch flavoured condom on within a three hour period. Managed to complain that ‘maybe I wasn’t the man for her’ in that time. I should have given up then and there.
- Sofia. Oh sexy Russian model. You idiot.
- Fuck I wish I could remember her name. Sorry … you.
- Milk. Racist. Lovely, mentioned previously, I could have spent the rest of my life with her. In exactly the same way that I could have driven a BMW 3 series for the rest of my life. Good car. Solid car. Nothing to be ashamed of. But still … you know?
I don’t care if the modern world crumbles, the lights go out and there are not more online bullet points. I have Erica, even if I don’t.