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The Time I Became a Victim of Netflix and Chill.

NOTE: Story written in 2016. Back by popular demand.

At this point I wouldn’t know his voice if I heard it; we text more than we speak. My emoji’s cry electronic tears for me as I make light humor out of my frustration. I sit, stiff faced, staring at my phone screen, wondering what other reaction I should exaggerate while concealing my feelings of being slighted. I casually inquired about how his day was — but all I really wanted to know was why he hadn’t called, or asked me out, after sampling my premium pussy package.

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