Dear Stupid Spice:

I think I just heard you tell some other dumb whore that you could somehow “just tell” that this losers “hair was a mess” ergo you “didn’t want to even OPEN” your Snapchat for fear of what you might see. Now, apparently you are in crisis, unable to decide whether or not to call him when you get home, even though you “don’t care that much” what happens.

Wait. What?

That was your only problem with this event? A glimpse of possibly messy hair?

First of all. Physician, heal thyself. You’re not exactly cutting edge with that Andre Agassi circa 1992 sweatband/Spice Girls circa 1997 ponytail combo. Secondly, this guys hair is the LEAST of your problems. Why are you even THINKING about responding to a picture, designed to self destruct tracelessly upon impact, with something as time consuming and tedious as a phone call?

The whole fucking point of Snapchat is to never talk. If Sideshow Bob wanted to talk to you, he would. He doesn’t want to. That’s why he sent you a shitty picture of himself mid-hummer to keep you on the line in case the chick who has his cock in her mouth at present falls asleep from the ruffies he dosed her with before he gets to blow a load on her face.

Do yourself a favor and don’t call him. It will only lead to disappointment.

Or do.

Whatever, dude. Just shut the fuck up. You are why Snapchat was invented. So assholes can just send random pictures of themselves to you and you can waste your life making up a fake backstories about the ACTUAL meaning of the communication, when there IS no actual meaning.

Kind of like I’m doing now…


PS. Next time, stick to “Snatchchat.” Seems more your vibe.

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