It’s funny, because I used to be one of you; all sweaty-palmed and dinner-dated and loved. I was there, where you are, passing holidays at my parents’ house in the bathroom, tapping out Morse code I wishes and I misses to whomever I was sharing a bed and a heart with that year.
Many of them will take this opportunity to turn on you and hiss about how they’re doing JUST FINE THANK YOU as they shuffle away from you like you were about to mace them.
If the members play their own instruments, are they exempt from boy band status? What about R&B groups? Is perfectly coiffed hair a requisite? It’s confusing.
This week, I’ll cover Resting Bitchface Syndrome (RBS), a debilitating affliction that affects the facial muscles, causing the afflicted to appear upset, depressed, pissed off, confused, and/or bored despite internal feelings and mood.
When you were in prison I was chasing you on a bike with two flat tires and the bike was in my mind. You were going out of yours at 1,000 miles per hour. You weren’t running from me, anyway. That is a good thing I think, because there’s no way I could have caught you.