I wish I could give you some saintly, gold-hearted reason for why I’m actually writing this post, like maybe I thought it would fix your life or open your eyes, or give you some other bullshit things to think about other than your dwindling bank account and bleaker future. But, honestly, I’m writing this because I’m bored as Hell and as pissed as the Devil that lives in it. I know you’re already expecting me to tell you that this whole thing is about a guy, but you’d be wrong, because I’m actually going to refer to him as a boy. After all, if it thinks like a child, plays like a child, and leaves it’s freshly mangled toys strewn across the playground like a child, I think it’s safe to refer to it as a child. If you’ve actually read this far into this post, I know you’re curious about the fuckboy that screwed me over. “He really got her good,” you’re thinking, with a half-witted smirk on your face. But you’re also thinking about that one that fucked you over too, aren’t you? You know, the one that your friends can’t talk about without rolling their eyes and scrunching their noses. To be honest though, it’s not even just one boy that I’m referring to- it’s the whole lot of them- it’s what they all seem to stand for once you get past the well-groomed, country club, chivalry encrusted exterior. Maybe you’ll tell me it’s not fair to lump them all into one frat-tank-wearing, Bud-Light-chugging, douche-faced group, but if that’s how you feel, then this post isn’t for girls like you. This post is for the girls that have tasted his alcohol laced breath and shitfaced ego firsthand and still couldn’t rid his stench from their minds. This is for the girls who were pretty enough to make him cum, but not enough to make him stay. He’s not worth the 3 minutes you took to read this post, let alone the 5 years you’ve let him live in your head.