The Curse Of The Ghost Hickey
Today, at approximately 7:00 am, I got the worst pain in the whole effin world in my neck. If I tried to turn my head right, two seconds lighter I'd be convulsing on the floor. I drug myself to the mirror and checked for pencils, needles, broken bones, godamned ship anchors. No, nothing. Just a hickey.
HICKEY?!
Now darlings, i'm afraid that was impossible, unless
A). DJ shimmied up the drain pipe and gave me one
B). You can get hickies from makeout dreams. oo. good dream.
C). I have a make out stigmata.
or
D). It is humanly possible to give yourself one.
I doubt A, and D, since I was never that flexy to begin with. C actually wouldn't be that bad. Embarassing, though, just think! You're in fifth period, minding your own Earthly business, when all of the sudden your shirt begins to unbutton on it's own?! Well, screw that. B's an interesting idea. My lovely dream took place on Dunbar Beach, and costarring in it was Jack Sparrow. I'm not that desperate to ave dreams about Jack, as cool as he is, Jack's code for someone else.
Bates knows what I'm talking about..
Anyway, swear to God, this thing was as big as Arizona. Thanks to revlon, however, it was hardly noticable. After sixth i check in the bathroom to see if it's still there, so I scratch a little concealer off. It's frickin gone. It was larger than life in all it's permiskuous glory four hours ago! It's a ghost hickey.
...I'm gonna have a bennadril chaser everynight!
--puw
fat people are harder to kidnap
Posted by hickeyfromkenicke
at 4:34 PM EDT
