You should keep texting them stupid shit now the motherfuckers are out of earshot, [kavinsky declares, accelerating the car into the dark. the wind smells cool and crisp and lovely, buffeting through her bright hair.] Describe every dick you've ever sat on to Farraige. Short and fat and red like a fire hydrant, [he nods vehemently,] the li'l pink ones that were shaved at the base. Black ones and brown ones. The ones that leaned over weird to the right. Name some names, rub it in.

Let Vanyel know he can suck it, [he adds, with extreme conviction. the mitsubishi jumps over a shallow dip in the road, rubber squeaking, the springs of the car complaining faintly upon landing. thunk! she might bite her tongue a bit, but there's no beat missed before they're speeding away again, leaves flying up into the beams of the headlights.] Price of tapping that ass, and if he can't handle it, it's not like it's your fucking job to do it for him.

[who's wyatt.

does it matter?]

And Wyatt needs a big helping of fat lemon cake dick himself, 'cause the fuck kind of name is Wyatt. Little bitch probably just needs to be taken roughly from behind to level his shit out because he got made fun of all through middle school. Take it from me, sweetheart. You follow the directions on the label, you're gonna be just fine.