a backstabbing bestie: “lol. but he shouldn’t have her number, though”
so…girl.
they didn’t get caught.
nah.
they prayed for that shit—
babe!
texted first,
and fucking volunteered.
like—
“hi i’d like to out myself as a backstabbing bitch side character
…and i’m also possibly on drugs with my bff’s husband. thanks.”
…
but
why am i not talking about
the main fucking event
of the goddamn
stupid,
sloppy,
twat-tastic betrayal olympics?
because—
IT’S
NOT
THAT
FUCKING
DEEP.
it’s just highly fucking dumb and well fucking documented.
—
but baby,
it’s fucking boring.
because…
of fucking course she did that.
because it’s too…fucking…predictable.
—
yo…this one?
shit.
everyone said she was
a dumb,
tragic,
attention-seeking—
male slobbering whore.
…like…forever.
me?
i just always told them—
to shut the fuck up.
lol.
how stupid.
—
because
apparently
the way you find out
your husband and your bestie
are both bottom‑shelf humans
is…
fucking silly as shit.
like
imagine
getting caught
not because
you’re too well planned,
too fucking brilliant
absolutely the fuck not—
but
because
you couldn’t
shut the fuck up…
in a group text???
…
on a fucking crash out???
at like…noon.
on a weekday.
like bro
target was open.
people were on their lunch breaks.
and y’all were out here
writing rom coms about my fucking downfall
in front of multiple witnesses???
she answered
like she had lines like
”omg—
yeah he did call me.
but like i never spoke to him”—
bullshit ready to fucking go
he typed like he
snorted goddamn punctuation.
and i just sat there like
damn.
babe.
the whole thing was giving
“i was absolutely not involved except for the part where i was absolutely involved.”
and like—
what were they expecting me to do?
read it and be like
“aw, slay, i love a co-written alibi”?
what the fuck
have these dumbasses
been…getting into?
…
so, yeah—
it wasn’t even betrayal at that point.
it was just fucking embarrassing.
like…
this is the emotional equivalent
of watching someone
trip over a fucking curb
then blame the sidewalk.
you ok bro???
—
because nah—
not me
thinking i had
a fucking best friend
when in fucking reality
i just had a wart-infected,
jealous,
highly desperate,
aging so fucking badly—
fucking psychotic fan-girl
with boundary issues
and a moral compass
that runs on blow and
second-hand male attention…
out of whatever
fucking dumpster she can
dig it out of…
like sissy—
if you wanted
to suck my husband’s dick
that
fucking
bad—
you could’ve just asked
for a fucking loyalty punch card.
i would’ve laminated it.
you highly pathetic slut.
nope.
but—
instead?
you played
the fucking long game
of “teehee i care about you”
when you were
really
just waiting for him to
fucking relapse
so you could feel better
about your
horrendous fucking personality.
—
newsflash:
you spread
an STD to a human hoodie
and humped,
goddamn slobbered—
for a fucking
bump of attention
and thought it made you relevant.
that’s not a win, babe.
that’s just
viral infections on fucking narcotics.
😐👏
and him?
bro,
he’s so
fucking tweaked
once he vacates
his new nj plug
and the entire goddamn state
this motherfucker??
he group-texted—
yes.
his fucking dumbass villain origin story
in the middle of the fucking day
like we were all
gonna read it and go,
“damn. he’s right. she def cheated.”
bro
you left the state,
left your kid,
left your fucking dignity
in a puddle of
goddamn adderall dust
and now you're mad
i got the fucking timeline right?
nah.
you two deserve each other.
truly.
because everyone always said
yo,
”sam—
she’s clearly a
backstabbing hoe & absolute trash.
and bitch,
he’s obviously fucking psychotic.”
and i said??
”nah.
they’re good.
they’re fucking trying.”
BUT FUCKING NOPE—
two crusty fucking lil goblins
who think “fidelity” is
a kind of
fucking financial institution,
where you snort
and then
fuck in the
tiny-ass cubicles.
sounds about fucking right.
congrats.
hope y’all are happy
in hell or jersey
whichever comes first.
