A whor-or story

Ever get a social media friend request from someone toward whom you not only harbor an unlimited amount of vitriol, but who also someone whose real name continually eludes you because you have SO many creative, compound cuss words that fit said person so much better?

When I saw that notification come through this week, intestinal distress hit instantly. Like, what’s the motive? To see what I’m all about, to call me out, to threaten me, to prove a point?

I see nothing altruistic about this development. And yet, terminal curiosity is enough to make me say yes.

Now to practice the world’s biggest feat of self-restraint and not type anywhere in public anything about What a Homely Old Ridiculously Obnoxious Twat-cicle Hot-ass mess Yardbomb I perceive said person to be (with reason, of course).

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