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“You’re Gay!” I Know, Idiot!

“You’re Gay!” I Know, Idiot!

Who told your busted, rusted, crusted and disgusted blimp-built ass that you were allowed to speak?

Your dad’s absent and your mother is out on the corner trying to support you and her 20 other kids…so I don’t know who spoke to you and gave you authority to open your Venus fly trap of a mouth.

I’m going to overlook the fact that you are serving Egypt teas: your face is built strong like the pyramids and your body odor is smelling like the inside of a sarcophagus.

I’m going to overlook the fact that your face is as impressive as Khia’s list of endorsement deals.

But the fact that your monkey bars built ass keeps telling people “you’re gay” as if they didn’t know that before you opened you semen-stained mouth is quite disheartening.

Why are you–a grown man–sitting over here looking at how gay people act/are instead of looking for the sushi, pier-smelling, camel-inspired vagina that you usually end up licking because that’s the best you can get.

You claim to be straight and yet you’re looking at gay men harder than your mother looked for the morning after pill.

How is it that your lips have dandruff? Drier than your inbox.

How is it that your body is built like math class? Shaped like absolute value bars.

How is it that your face is looking like a deep sea expedition? Don’t have to dive too far to get to that Mariana Trench.

As you can see, you have more things to worry about than the gayness of others.

Once you stop looking like an E.T. who couldn’t even phone home because he couldn’t afford to make the call, then you can continue to speak.

But for now you can close your mouth in the same fashion as the doors to Keyshia’s Cole’s career have been closed.


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