In Need Of A Bitch Girlfriend

[Under original management once more. The king has returned!]

Twelve seconds. It's been exactly twelve seconds since you committed relationship suicide. After a year of dating, it's about to be all over. But the thing is, you're okay with that.

What did you do? You told the truth. You told her what you've been hinting at for months. In short, you told her that the sex was terrible. The sex has always been terrible. You just climb on top of her a few times a week, pound her for fifteen minutes or so while she just lays there listening to her goth music, and then she wanders off to the bathroom to take a shower.

Just thinking about it makes you a tiny bit angry. It doesn't make any sense. The punk hair, the plethora of tattoos, the pierced fucking nipples! It was false advertising. A girl like that should be in to some serious cock teasing, strap-on fucking, dominatrix stuff! ...and that's exactly what you told her when she asked how to make it better: you want a cruel, selfish bitch in the bedroom and if she can't be that bitch than you'll find someone who can. So, yeah, relationship suicide. And just to make you a little bit more of a creep, you did it all via text message.

Currently it's been about a minute since your last text message and so far no response. At the twenty minute mark you think it's fair to assume that no response is coming.

...another one bites the dust. It's a cruel way to look at it, but you're not happy. And unless the sex is going to go from boring to amazing, you're not going to be happy.

And so, after two days without a response you think it's fair to assume that the relationship is thoroughly dead.

On day three you receive a text message...