Fuck Off, Amanda

Look, Amanda, I know you have an opinion about your gay friends being on their phones when they’re hanging out with you, but maybe it’s you and not them?

“Look, I know it isn’t easy. You’re .41 miles away from your usual location, and therefore in an entirely new microclimate of ass—the cheesybeefs and chunkydumpsters and cumgobbler23s popping up around you like new species of turtle, pinging and woofing and looking, always looking—and you feel a compulsion, nay, an obligation, to discover, to conquer, to anchor your vessel, and to chart my little corner of this grimy, noisy archipelago.

You know what, Amanda? Your cooking is terrible.

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