Dear "Mr.Nice Guy",

Stop fucking texting me. I'm done with you.

And if you didn't notice, let me take a second to call it to your attention now--I was always too good for you. It's something I've been fully conscious of from the beginning. Just being honest.

I'm intelligent, quick-witted, cute, and have bangin tits that God naturally blessed me with. You have a deplorable receding hairline, are entirely too needy, and your sense of humor doesn't hold a card to mine. Also, I don't give a fuck that you went to Wash U. I still think you're intellectually inferior. You majored in anthropology. What the fuck even is that? Last time I checked it was a clothing store (which carries items that highlight my phenomenal chest).

Bitch, Get Off Me,
A