~Deidre Mitchell
Conversations, conversations, conversations!
I swear it feels like my 🐱 is a homing device for the most fucked up situations sometimes.
🐱: “Hey, now I know we said we weren’t gonna latch on to another broken situation. But look, gimme like six months..”
Me: SIX MONTHS..HELLLLL NAW!! NOPE!! FUCK NO!! HELLLL NO!! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE HELL WE HAVE COM…
🐱: See that’s the mothafuckin problem right there! We haven’t been cummin for shit..except your exceptionally, nasty imagination and that toy that cries now, because it didn’t realize how much work it was gonna have to put in!! LETS GOOOOOO!!
Me: You know this mothafucka 36, works part time some place that he can’t even tell you just yet, but it ain’t illegal. Lives with his mom, two cousins, and half sister, three dogs, and a goldfish named Jerry, right? He’s got two kids, that have different mothers, and one of them still “wants him.”
🐱: You know he’s fine as fuck, got a pretty good body, talks that shit, and his dick made you go back to work with donuts and coffee for the whole office the next day.
Plus, you can’t separate me and Big Tony. We go together now, so get on board!
Me: Who the fuck is Big Tony
🐱: His dick
Me: I hate you