Wednesday, June 11, 2008
at 8:27 AM Posted by GHABB,Y~!
It starts with something simple, like leaving your laundry on the floor, or listening to sports radio too loud when she's trying to sleep, or letting your empty beer bottles sit in the living room overnight instead of putting them in the recycling right away. Any other day, it wouldn't be such a big deal, but today, for whatever reason, it sets something off in your girlfriend, and she snaps. Up until now, you'd been pretty proud of yourself for avoiding a major incident in the weeks/months/years that you've lived together.
But today, sparked by that laundry/radio/beer bottle, it all comes out. All of it. The laundry turns into a lecture on your personal hygiene habits, which evolves into a criticism of your parents, which somehow leads to, "and you always say you hate your job, but you never do anything about it." Being the pugilistic sort that you are, you retort by saying she always acts like her mother, or that she never pays for shit, or that maybe instead of sitting in front of the tube watching Sex and the City reruns and eating Edy's ice cream, maybe that time would be better spent at the gym. The fight then abruptly ends with a final shot across the bow ("AND YOU GIVE TERRIBLE HEAD!"), her leaving the apartment, and the sound of the door slamming.
She then calls that friend. You know, the one that you never liked? The one who works as a receptionist at the dentist/gym? The one who gets the herpes sore on her lip every spring? The one who works out two hours a day but still seems to have a beer gut? The one who parties only on nights that end in Y? The one who stripped, "but only for a couple of weeks when I didn't have a job"? Yeah, that one. The one you nicknamed "TurboSlut Jill" or "Cold Sore Cathy" or simply "That Cunt Friend of Yours." Every woman has a friend like this, and, for some godforsaken reason, this is the friend she calls after a huge fight. "I need a drink," is all your girlfriend has to say, and TurboSlut Jill goes into TurboSlut Mode, saying she knows "just the place" where your girlfriend can "forget all about" the fight, and ostensibly, the fact that you're still in a relationship. TurboSlut Jill then reminds your girlfriend to "wear something hot!" with an extra lilt in her voice when she says the word "hot." Your girlfriend then proceeds to spend $200 on a skirt using the debit card from your shared bank account.
TurboSlut Jill then proceeds to take her to that club on Lansdowne Street that you and your girlfriend once walked by and laughed, "wow, thank god we're not single anymore!" TurboSlut Jill then buys her a shot (it's always a shot) with a stupid name, like "Buttery Nipple" or "Bahama Mama" or "Pink Colored Vagina Tickler." One shot leads to two, two leads to four, and by the end of the night, your girlfriend of months/years is going home with this man:
Oh, he may not necessarily be Slovenian or play for the Lakers, but take a good look at that face, because Sasha Vujacic is always the guy your girlfriend hooked up with after you had that big fight. Every time. He's always at the clubs, he's swarthy, he has an accent and a five-o-clock shadow, and he invariably puts the final nail in the coffin of your relationship, aided by six Buttery Nipple shots and the herpes-driven will of her slutty friend.
So fuck you Sasha Vujacic. Fuck you and your annoying defense, three-point shooting, and girlfriend stealing. Sure, also fuck the Celtics for shooting 35% as a team, Paul Pierce for chortling it up with Kobe when he was having one of the worst games of his career, and Doc Rivers for playing Leon Powe only SIX FUCKING MINUTES despite the fact that the C's had dominated the paint for two straight games and Kevin Garnett had somehow contracted an allergy to shooting anything within five feet. But most of all, fuck Sasha Vujacic. Hope he enjoyed the terrible head.