bed love

The only up­side to hav­ing a cold is that I don’t feel like a pig­gy when I or­der four piz­zas (and bread­sticks and a cook­ie pizza). 

“I NEED THESE FOR HEALTH” —me on the de­liv­ery app

Lat­er, I go to the drug­store be­cause I am ba­si­cal­ly dy­ing and the dude ring­ing me up hits on me. 

What about me rolling out in an ac­tu­al blan­ket buy­ing an ar­se­nal of cold meds chok­ing back a snot stream is do­ing it for you there bud­dy? Is it the red chapped nose and lips? The Tom Hardy as Bane voice slur­ring out of my mouth? Maybe it’s the greasy sweat-mat­ted hair that’s got your en­gine revving? 

What­ev­er it is, your crum­my dick does not have med­i­c­i­nal heal­ing pow­ers so you need to get away from me with that. I do not need to spend my last mo­ments on Earth deal­ing with your des­per­ate creep­er ass.

Also dri­ving while sick is a real life night­mare, thank every­thing that bed ex­ists. I love you bed.
 
 

—na­tal­ie michelle

Flom­mist Na­tal­ie Michelle does­n’t have a bio. She just rants. Copy­right © 2016 Na­tal­ie Michelle. Pic­tured: Ed­vard Munch, By the Deathbed (Fever) I, 1915, source.

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

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