Are You A Carrie Or A Carrie?
You drink a glass of white wine:
A. To calm your nerves after a stressful real-talk convo with the girls about fellatio and trying to “have it all” in the Big City.
B. To calm your nerves after a seven hour interrogation of an international terrorist bent on doing harm to the United States and its allies.
When you’re “doing the walk of shame,” you’re usually leaving:
A. The apartment of a handsome, young-middle-aged Manhattan millionaire.
B. The suburban home of an international terrorist bent on doing harm to the United States and its allies.
If someone opened your medicine cabinet, they’d find:
A. Your birth control pills, a half-finished bottle of valium, and an expired box of Dexatrim.
B. Seven different kids of anti-psychotic medications with your dad’s name on the label.
Does the carpet match the drapes?
A. You’re a strictly “hardwood flooring” kind of girl.
B. What the hell are you talking about? Don’t you know that there are international terrorist out there bent on doing harm to the United States and its allies? This isn’t some joke! I’m out there trying to stop Abu Nazir from killing innocent civilians and you’re asking me about my pubic hair?! Who gave you clearance for this? Was it fucking Estes? I swear to fucking God…
What’s your idea of a perfect Saturday morning?
A. Morning sex, pilates and a mani-pedi followed by brunch (and Cosmos!) with the girls.
B. I’m not sure if you understand that gravity of what I’m trying to tell you! There is not much time, and we are this close to nailing Nazir and his whole operation, but all you can think about is some bullshit questionnaire?! You want to know my idea of a perfect Saturday morning? It’s smearing the blood of Nazir’s corpse across my face like war paint and running through the offices of CIA headquarters yelling, “Who’s crazy now, assholes?!” Is that what you wanted to hear? Jesus Christ! This is a fucking mess!
Gingers — hot or not?
B. Hot. Very hot.
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A | A | A
I cannot see the middle of a relationship at the beginning, but I can see the end from the middle. I know that there will be an end. There has to be. This is just a stop on the road.
I could walk to Celebrate Brooklyn all summer along. I’d learn how to start running. I’d eat meals of happy chickens at the commune across the street.
Kush got me selfie o’clock twitpic.com/ff3880
Don’t kill anybody. There might be a time in your 20s when you encounter a situation where you’re like, man, I could totally get away with killing this person. Police wouldn’t have a motive. No one would ever know.