Dear Dude Who Refused to Stop Rubbing My Bird on the MRT,
I know we haven’t met before and I know you may have been taken by my Dominic Ochoa-like ways. I know that as fugly as you are, you haven’t had secks since like forever. I pity you. But not enough for pity secks.
Why the hell do you think that rubbing your hand against my bird is such a good thing? I know it’s pretty crowded and all and I know that you may have a thing for public secks, but geez, that’s just plain gross. Haven’t you already taken a hint when I pushed your hand away and moved two inches back? You really had to move closer to me every time I move away. And is “back off, buddy” Greek to you?
Anyway, I just would like you to know that I would’ve punched you if only you weren’t seven feet tall. Also, as much as I don’t want to break your heart, I would want to say that I’m not interested. I know that you like to think you turned me on and I’d miss work to have some hot secksing with you, but no. I’m not interested. You see, hot man-secks isn’t really my thing. And I really wouldn’t want to pursue a friendship with you, mainly because the next time we ride the MRT I wouldn’t be looking forward to more bird-touching.
P.S. Fuck you.
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