I don’t want to ride ANY disco sticks.

I’m starting to wonder if Facebook knows something about my vagina that I don’t.

But, point of order: No one’s vagina likes disco.

NO.

The “D” in my DNA is for “disgust”

Hi, my father just shared this on Facebook with a “Hee,” so if you need me I’ll be jumping out a window.

Facebook is just attacking me directly now.

*blink*

 

Why you gotta break balls, Facebook?

 

Trust me, it’s not a desire issue.

Parents shouldn’t have Facebook.

My parents have a habit of making my mundane Facebook posts SUPER weird, so I texted my friends about one post, like, “The fuck? They’re weird, right?” And then…

How ‘bout NOga?

I didn’t THINK I was struggling with mental health, until I saw this and thought, “Oh, OK, sure. Meanwhile, YOU please consider some gentle kissing of my ass.”

What could you POSSIBLY want from me?

If there’s something weird that CAN happen with an ex-boyfriend, that weird thing is going to happen to me.

“Hey, what’s up, we never actually DATED 15 years ago, we just slept together, and never spoke again after I told you that needed to stop. But sure, by all means, send me a Facebook message request (because we’re not FB friends) that’s just the automated wave.”

I dated…SO many weirdos, you guys. And it’s ALWAYS the weirdos. No ex I WANT to hear from ever contacts me.

Also, I should mention that HIS WIFE has viewed my LinkedIn profile at least three times over the years. Maybe I’m in the running to be their guest star. (🤞🏼🤞🏼🤞🏼!)

My handbasket will be in the express lane to Hell.

OK, listen…

Suicide is bad, please don’t do it, SOMEONE needs you. I am very lucky in that whatever may be wrong with my brain, I’ve never actively considered it.

HOWEVER. I also have a fucked-up way of looking at things. So, an acquaintance posted this on Facebook…

…and I know what they’re TRYING to say, but suicide *absolutely* ends the chances of life getting worse. It ends the chances of…LIFE.

Does it ALSO eliminate the possibility of things getting better? Sure. But this is just a faulty construct.

(I’m leaving out that things don’t always get better for everyone, and if I were suicidal, this might make me feel worse, like things get better for everyone BUT me and I’m just not trying hard enough, but I’m just focusing on the biology.)

Bitch better pay that bill.

My stepmother left a 5-word comment on my Facebook post, which led to me contacting my therapist to request an extra session.

So…that seems perfectly healthy…

I can spell “fuck you” just fine.

My dad thought it’d be hilarious to point out a typo in my Facebook post, and HA HA HA, I hope it’s still funny when I forward you the therapy bill.