IDontHavePantsOn
I grew up in a rural town of mostly farmland. The biggest store was a gas station owned by my grandfather’s half brother.
For college and a few years afterwards I lived in a city. I really liked being able to go do something at any point, but I hated the roommates, neighbors, city noise, ordinances, light pollution, traffic, cost of living, high crime rates, and low job prospects.
I moved back to an adjacent town and while there isn’t much to do, I pay less for my mortgage now than I would have for a studio apartment back in the city. I can see the stars, my neighbors don’t give a shit about me, traffic only exists to slow me down a few minutes a day, I can leave my doors unlocked, and since the pandemic I could change careers at any point.
It’s all about what people want. The grass is always greener, and the green is always green.
Well I do have around 200 pictures of my butthole, and if I was held for ransom where those pictures were emailed to either of my grandfathers then I would pay a tidy sum to prevent it. Grandma, mom, dad, step-niece, I don’t care. But if my grandfather might see my butthole, I would happily pay $40m to keep him from seeing my bare back butthole and balls. I don’t want you all to get the wrong idea, I love Gramps, but he has seen enough of my butthole, and I want to stay in his will.
Oh lord. That was more than enough cringe. The hook of “I don’t care if I offend you” really hammers home that they aren’t offensive, just sheisty dramatic coat riders.
They’re so offended that their opinions are largely considered shit that they wrote a song solidifying that they are “men,” and disagreement with them makes them upset enough to attempt to write thinly veiled propaganda music in warehouse basements to broadcast to everyone as if they are somehow being silenced.
It’s people like you that make me look like an asshole. Every morning I wake up at 3am to squeeze orange juice, make sausage gravy, biscuits, waffles, 5 omelettes, 40 pancakes, 6lbs of bacon, hash browns, buttered toast, and right after my son comes down the stairs, puts his ball cap on, grabs a single piece of bacon, heads out the door in a rush, I chase him down with a PB&J he inevitably always forgets. But it’s not like I want to waste 40lbe of food per day. Some days I just want my son to sit down and eat the 40lbs of food I prepared. He may think I’m overbearing but I’m really overcaring.
I need someone to post a piped link so I don’t have to give this person any more views.
I crave the cringe.