The Only Child Friend

How You Met:
First day of Kindergarten, you were minding your own business, when some booger-encrusted, tattle-tale came and stole your Malibu Barbie's Jeep. Shocked, you look at this princess bitch and asked her, "Why did you do that?" She replied, "Do what?" Had you been a twenty-three-year old menstruating young woman, this would have been the moment you realized that some parents use birth control, while some let a night of heavy tequila drinking followed by a handful of unprotected thrusts determine the rest of their life. But you were five, and all you thought was - I wanna tear this cunts nappy pigtails out of her skull, tie them around her neck, and then see how well she navigates the jeep.

After an intervention from the teacher, and a lesson about sharing (that went completely over Kylie's head), Kylie informed you of every single toy her over-protective parents had bought her: Baby-All-Gone, Baby-Born, Polly Pocket, Easy Bake Oven, Creepy Crawlers, Barbie's car, Barbie's life size car, and every single Beanie Baby that Ty could dream up. This seemed like a nice upgrade from the hand-me-downs you had been receiving your whole life: completely coloured colouring books, headless Tigger, Barbies with mohawks, one-legged Ken, your Dad's bio-hazard of a tool set, and large sheets of mostly popped bubble wrap. So you begged your distracted mother to let you go play with Kylie, while your brother was getting chased around the house for refusing to practice piano.

You loved Kylie's pool, her brand new puppy, her candy cupboard, and her en suite bathroom. However, you didn't love the endless supply of Sears portraits featuring Kylie in various sweaters and turtlenecks, gazing wistfully at her distant future (which hadn't been shattered by a crazy older sister. aka. Satan's Spawn). And you didn't love playing make-believe with her because you always had to play the dog, the mailman, the dad, the ugly troll, and the rug.


Your Relationship Now:
By some chance of God, your relationship survived through your tweens. But it always felt like she controlled the relationship. When you traded her an Oreo, she would give you a fingernail size portion of her Fruit Roll-Up. When you wrote History quizzes, she would copy and blame you if you got caught. When you went to the prom with Zack, the cute, but shy piece of ass from math class, she told you she was going to find out if he liked you. Instead, you caught her giving Zack his first hand job in the janitor's closet, which somewhat resembled a construction worker trying to drill through pavement. You almost cried, and so did Zack.

Now that you ARE a 23-year-old woman, she is still a fucking selfish, know-it-all, son of a penis gremlin, that is out to get hers. She doesn't give a rat's patoot about you or anyone else on this hell hole called earth. So what's stopping you from fucking over this stuck-up, merciless seagull's-ass? The fact that you feel sorry for her. Because, while you have a grip on reality, Kylie's only newspaper subscription is to the Kylie Times. Her biggest worry seems to be what race or game she can beat someone at. She's going to be very disappointed one day, when she wakes up and realizes she is an absolutely brutal human being and NO ONE is ever going to think she is as special as her fucking parents do. Not even her balding, pot-bellied husband, Lester.


How Do You Deal?
It's kind of like watching "A Walk To Remember." Painful, predictable, and a complete waste of your time. But what's better than watching this anal bead live a narcissistic, lonely life, which will later result in the biggest let down of the century? Probably watching it on HD in a lazy boy with popcorn.


This Friend Is Compatible With:
Their Parents
Themselves


Love Forever,
Sh-Bear and Jah-Day