Just Ask

Dear Butch,

I know I have a great set of tits and a rocking ass, but please stop stalking me at the bar.  It is getting creepy.  If you want to dance, just ask.  If you want my number, just ask.  If you want to bend me over the pool table in the corner and have your way with me, just ask.  Notice a pattern here.  I might say yes and I might say no, but you will never know from standing behind me on the dance floor trying not to make it obvious that you are watching my every move by hiding behind your phone.

I may wear heels and mascara, but I that does not make me unapproachable or made of toxic materials.  I am just a regular girl underneath my dress, a girl who may look a lot like you when the clothes are removed.  I don’t have scales, a bloated ego, fins, superficial ideals about dating (i.e. I don’t U-Haul), crabs (beach or pubic), unattainable standards, or horns.

So, grab your balls and just ask.  Plus, I know of a great pool table.




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