I’m Single And I’m Not Apologizing

Nick And Norah's Infinite Playlist
Nick And Norah’s Infinite Playlist

Guess what, bitch? I’m single.

Yeah. I forgot my kid in the bathtub. So what? You have a problem with that? Well I’ll tell you why I forgot him there. I was out having sex. With men. That’s right, sister. I’m owning this pussy. I’m out here getting it, and you’re stuck at home with Joe-Schmo. You’re binge-watching Portlandia and having stale-relationship sex, and I’m getting all the fresh dick I want. I’m single as hell, and I’m not apologizing.

I love the freedom of being single, and I love to not apologize for things. What’s better than combining the two into an identity? Nothing, that’s what. Today I woke up in my own bed, put makeup on because I wanted to (not because some asshole man told me to) and then I got online and looked at child pornography. Why? Because I’m into that shit? Fuck no, it’s disgusting. I did it because I can. Oh, what, you want an apology? Shove it. I’m single, I’m downloading child porn, and I don’t care what anybody thinks.

I shoplift. You know how much harder that would be if I had a boyfriend holding my purse? Where would I put all the stuff I steal? Down my pants like some sort of dumbass teenager wearing hip hop pants? Hell no! I carry my goddamn purse myself because I’m an independent woman who doesn’t need a man. I shove merchandise in it, walk out of the store, and tell the security guards they can kiss my single ass. If you’re waiting for an apology, don’t hold your breath.

One of the best parts about being single is being able to go to the bar and get free drinks from desperate men. Yeah, honey, I’m single like some shit. You got a drink for me? Put it on your tab, this might be your lucky night. Guess what, though – it isn’t. I’m leaving here by myself. SINGLE! Then I’m driving my drunk ass home on the wrong side of the road, and I’m taking the scenic route. It’s the one that goes through the crowd of University students waiting to get into the club that doesn’t card.

“I don’t need a man!” I yell to myself, blasting Bonnie Raitt on the stereo as the bodies fly over the hood of my car. I think the blonde one won’t be able to walk ever again. Fine by me. That’s her problem. I’m fucking single over here.

Yeah, I’m single, and I love to use the n word. I love to do all kinds of racist shit. I don’t need a relationship with a man, and I don’t need a relationship with people who don’t look like me. The way I see it, minorities are just like a clingy boyfriend who won’t let you have your own space. Not anymore, motherfuckers. I’m single and I’m racist as hell. Think I’m going to apologize for it? Think again, bitch.

I held a pillow over my grandmother’s mouth as she slept. She didn’t struggle much, what with her pain medication sapping the little bit of energy she had left. I know what you’re thinking – you think I did it just so I could get some inheritance money. Nope – that bitch lived in a double wide that was being foreclosed. She hadn’t a penny to her name. I did it because she said I should find a man, and I’ll be god damned if some raggedy arthritic ass bitch is going to tell me I can’t be single. So I killed her. You think I’m sorry?

Guess what, I’m fucking not. I’m single. TC mark

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