You’re a severe drug addict.
Just can’t deal with this. Having you rob me constantly ain’t cool. And when you be pulling a knife on me and trying to kill my ass cause you all phreaked out on meth ain’t cool either. You can do drugs casually, perhaps even too much, but real on drug addiction, no matter how hot you be: deal breaker.
You’re under eighteen.
There’s such a thing as too young… And I’m 35, after all, I’m looking to get married.
You don’t give blow jobs.
I can’t stick with this. That ain’t cool. Listen, I love you too. We love each other, that’s why you
like LOVE to do this. That’s why I eat you out so passionately too. Now, go find my special cream.
You chronicle your life on Thought Catalog or Tumblr.
Girl, please! I ain’t gonna turn into no Adrien Brody. Keep that stuff in your little notebook locked away in your closet with a little key that you carry around in a necklace, not online.
You’ve slept with my lame friends.
You’ve slept with my lamest friend. I don’t care if you slept with my cool friends, but, if you hooked up with some of my lamest friends that just ain’t cool. It makes me feel insecure like I am lame too. It’s not you, it’s me baby.