I Don't Fuck For Coachella Tickets

I spent the last weekend aggressively avoiding schoolwork by drinking in my apartment, drinking in my friend's apartment, and drinking at a bar. Sometimes when I go to bars men talk to me.

I like men. They smell good. Sometimes there's hair on their face and I like that. Sometimes they're wearing fancy shoes, and I like that as well. Sometimes when they talk they say interesting things. That's the best.

Sometimes they say stupid things though. I'm not a fan.

Anyway, I'm out with my friends and some dude starts talking to me. You know that guy. He's that kind of button-down wearing, pulling baggies of x out of the pockets of his pastel chubbies (or worse, his cargo shorts), douchebag. Maybe he spent $90 on his Ralph Lauren polo. Maybe he's wearing a G Shock, and that's all you need to know.

Of course I'm judging you. Everyone is constantly judging everyone; that's what people do. I don't take the time to understand your full life story. I don't fucking care. All I need to know is if you are a possible danger to me. If you fill any of the above criteria, you probably are.

As always, let's end with the motherfucking motto:

(These gifs of my face courtesy of this video.)