You know, I really try to keep it light around here. I do try. I'm not Michelle Malkin. I'm not interested in selling my ego-nuts opines on everything, because while I'm a head case, I don't have a big head. I figure you guys can read the news and come up with your own opinion, and I respect that you're gonna have one. "Don't interfere," Daddy always said. "There's room enough for all of us."
But then there are times when I just have to get serious--when I get my three hundredth "you're going to hell" from Chrissy McChristianPants, or when some fancy-shoes douchesack kicks my puppy, or today, when I open my Gmail and see another, "You think you're so special because you're friends with Tucker Max" email.
I get these all the time, and I'm inclined to brush them off, but am somehow unable to do so. You see, these are the emails that sting the worst. I suppose I shouldn't be exposing my digital Achilles heel to you jackals, but whatever. In terms of exposure, I'm naked as the day I was born (Go have a look at my archives; you'll see I drank pee when I was nine on a dare, and then tried to kill myself twice at twenty. I'm real guarded). So there you have it. If you want to hurt me lots, just drop me a "you think you're so special" yada-yada Tucker email.
So it is the opinion of strangers that I think I am special for knowing Tucker, that it's a big happy-fun-time-party-whoo-hoo-blast being tight with a notorious asshole. Stop reading if at any point you can no longer handle the party.
It is so fun being Tucker's public ex and buddy, what with all the well-adjusted people that lurk the Interwebs. I just adore the bull-dyke marginalization of myself that pops up on message boards via accounts linked to strangers--when anyone who knows me knows me as laid back and more straight than gay--and truly, it's wonderful to me that people I don't know impersonate and misrepresent me to belittle my real, all grown up, friend Tucker, in order to demean the circa '99 cocksucker he used to be. I'd sooner pick up Christianity than impersonate a Q-list blogger, but whatever floats your boat. Loser.
It is so fun being Tucker's public ex and buddy, what with all the well-adjusted men I meet these days. No, it's totally okay that we talk about my ex-boyfriend during this date. Sure, go ahead and tell me how you got Tucker Max Drunk at a ball game; that's so interesting and unique. I don't mind. Really. Go ahead. Later, when I tell you I'm going to jam my dinner fork into your eye if you don't stop talking about Tucker, you'll become totally disinterested in me, and that's fantastic.
It is so fun being Tucker's public ex and buddy, what with all the "negging" the PUAs and my ex have infected young men with. Listen to me: Put down that dogeared copy of "The Game," and start treating women right. It is not sexy when you come to me and point out my flaws. Go pick up your rape and incest victims somewhere else. Or better yet, settle your turbulence with mom. She was a bitch; get over it. [Tucker wants me to tell everyone that he has nothing to do with "The Game," Neil Strauss, or the PUA community. What a pain in the ass.]
It is so fun being Tucker's public ex and buddy, what with all the well-adjusted men who worship him through me. I totally love it when men try and fuck me to follow him, and no, that's not remotely disturbing, nor is it trifling when women fuck me to get into bed with him. That's nice. I like that. It feels real good.
It is so fun being Tucker's public ex and buddy, what with the wonderful rep that comes along with it. I'm okay with being overlooked and lumped with misogyny, isn't everyone? I mean, its not as if I've worked long and hard to develop a unique voice unlike "Fratire" in almost every way. It's great to see that my Alexa spot is one million ranks above nitwit media darlings who write pap about shoe shopping and cocktails that no one reads. I love that editors blow me off without first reading my site because my ex is an asshole. What could a woman who dated an asshole know about being a woman? Its not like women date assholes or anything.
It is so fun being Tucker's public ex and buddy, what with all the well-adjusted women he fucks. I just adore that you come to me for counsel a day later. One of the great loves of my life didn't ask you for a second date? Tell me alllllll about it. Give me the details, and don't spare the "feeling" words. This whole thing is very tragic. Don't forget to send me those pictures you took of yourself next to Tucker with my dogs on your lap. I'll want to cherish those memories forever. My email address is: TheBunnyMail@gmail.com. Bookmark it, you know for when Tucker stops taking your calls, and you vent your rage on me with a few "YOU'RE AN UGLY BITCH!" emails from different yahoo accounts you'll soon make up. SwirlyGirl45, QTpie876 and HotStuff485 are all free. Go and get 'em now; it will save you some time later.
So let me know when the party starts, and I'll be there in bells with a big "yay" and stuff. I mean, I love Tucker very much, and he's worth all this bullshit, but it is bullshit nonetheless.
Posted by The Bunny at 12:08 AM