Insupportability Due To Discord or Conflict of Personality

What are, exactly, the legitimate ends of a marriage? And who gets to paid to write these mawkish love stories, anyway? Construe away, motherfuckers, because this version of my desertion is the only one that I could ever subscribe to; and sleeping together is so better than not. Boy, what I wouldn't give to be fucking my man the old-fashioned way during a thunderstorm tonight. I can't imagine a better partner and he writes, too, when the holy spear, it moves him, and he wants for nothing, except an auxiliary television and the occasional daily high. Me? I want for a healthy cigarette and sunglasses that don't inspire ridicule; and a normal life -- you know, one without cancer and death and addiction and angst and fear and struggle, because I'm sure such a life exists somewhere (humans don't.) My advice to you, boys? Give everything you've got to give up, to make sure you found the right girl, in case that feeling starts to stick, like star-crossed eyes are purported to do in the wind. The end of the line is lonely and I've just got to find more civilized ways to murder myself because there are lots of things that stand between me and my grave, like sad sack dance parties. Do you ever notice that I 180 my position halfway through a sentence and that I never, ever apologize for it? Just like I will never, ever apologize for expecting a little something in return for going out for bread and milk. I'm talking about double penetration, Husband. Hang tight!