fuckboy tales: turdy lamebert act 4 (the wifey woo)

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california welcomed me with open arms & some pretty good chinese food. as i settled into my new digs, turdy continued his long-distance love bombing campaign with the persistence of a hemorrhoid after a 12-hour road trip.

then came the revelation™.

turns out, our intrepid romance novelist wasn't just a philosophical fuckboy—he was a married philosophical fuckboy! with children! the man who wanted me to be the "mother to his future offspring" already had offspring! & a whole-ass wife! talk about burying the lead deeper than a vampire at bedtime.

when confronted, turdy unleashed the waterworks. "i'll confront my wife," he blubbered, as if his marital status was just some minor inconvenience like forgetting to mention a shellfish allergy. meanwhile, i'm sitting in my newly unpacked living room, drinking rockstar white (watching my sugar intake like a responsible adult vampiress), wondering if i should laugh or send an anonymous message to his poor wife.

the audacity of this odious bog creature knew no bounds. he kept messaging, kept trying to maintain whatever fantasy relationship he'd constructed in his jazzlynn-occupied brain. but california had granted me perspective along with less carsickness. i could see this situation for exactly what it was: a pathetic man seeking validation & an emotional crutch while doing absolutely nothing to improve his actual life. just another fantasist. honk shoe, m’dude.

eventually, he found some new target closer to his geographic location, & the messages slowed, then stopped. the trash had taken itself out, leaving me free to enjoy my california life, my gaming, & my sacred place completely turdy-free.

hop my world indeed, motherfucker. see you next tuesday! 💜

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