Let me drive your Daddy’s Lambo…
Alright – It’s not quite a Lambo, but it is a Maserati. What the F*ck is a Maserati? Lezzbe honest, I mean I didn’t even know what it was. According to Mr. Sport Car Extraordinaire, (My Sexy-Male-Best Boyfriend owner of so-called Mazz-er-ah-t) it’s a little sister of a Ferrari. Why– Because my boyfriend has to be original, and he needed to buy something that further fed his already I’m-a-Total-Sexy-Savage Ego and I think it’s the only one in Montana, Hence Originality. We cannot go two feet in this town without people asking about it, or screaming nice car from there o-so-classy osmoible. Even as I was minding my own business, drawing doodles of Unicorns and rainbows, I looked over and two kids were sharing pictures of HIS car with each other commenting out our late night adventure to PLONK! Wine. Ridiculous.
Now, I can’t sit here in bitch that I get to ride around in the front seat of a Fancy-Smancy sports car on my time off… In matter-of-fact I love it, who wouldn’t? Which brings me to my next point; I cannot stand the woman that Eye-F*ck my boyfriend when he steps out of this car. Isn’t it already enough that he is absolutely gorgeous, but hey, let’s just throw in a Maserati to soup up that sex appeal? And here I am… Poor Innocent girlfriend, dealing with stripper woman rubbing their Barbie Doll Plastic Boobies all over his windshield… Well, that hasn’t happened yet, but in time I’m sure I will see it. I’m not a defensive girlfriend by any means, and I trust my boyfriend to the full amount, but a girl has got to draw the line somewhere right? I can’t have all these plastic Gold digging barbies willing to drop their panties at the chance they may get to
fuck sit in the front seat of that car. Bitches He’s mine. – ( Man, I could write a Kanye West song about this…)
Dealing with this on a daily basis has become a routine for me
#firstworldproblems. Which bring me to my third point: Slutty Ass Hoes… Let me rephrase this, Slutty ass Model Hoes, Slutty ass Model Gold Digging hoes. Once upon a time, before my boyfriend and I were together. He was “Talking”… and by talking I mean probably screwing this Sexy-as-Fuck hot blonde Model thing who posed for Maximum. Or whatever that Mag is. Miraculously – he chose me over her. ME! Like 5’5” 150 lb. with brown eyes and brown hair ME, god forbid I am nothing special, but I must have one hell of a personality.
Anyways, she contacted Mr. Sports Car Extraordinaire in regards to taking him to big sky and posing her very sexy – not very clothed body all over his car. How am I Suppose to deal with this one? Black Italian leather-Views of Big Sky in the back ground-and a sexy Blonde half naked spread eagle on his car. I should just kiss my relationship good bye obviously. I can’t compete with perfect, well $15,000 a couple breast implants and liposuction later, I might could. But not even close.
Well. Now that I have completely stated my story. I feel like Barbie and Ken Should live Happily ever after, after all – it’s not Cowgirl & Ken.. They don’t even make a cowgirl barbie…. anyways, I have a love/hate relationship with this car. And this car, will most likely end out relationship..