Dear Murray
I’ve been with my bf for 5 years. I’ve outgrown the relationship and don’t know how to tell him. He has a college degree and is working in retail (not even a manager, wtf!?) and wants to hang out with his friends all the time.
He doesn’t make me a priority–when we spend time together, we do the same shit (eat out, watch tv, go to a movie), and half the time, we don’t even talk.
We’ve spoken about marriage and kids and a house, and he doesn’t seem geared towards it at all. He’s stuck, and I’m not willing to stick around and wait to see if he grows up. I refuse to wait till my tits are by my knees to realize that he’s never going to change, but every time I leave him, he comes blubbering at my door like he’s going to die without me.
What do I do? How can I get rid of him without feeling like a miserable human being?
–Signed, Waiting to Engage
Oh hell. Maybe this dude is really turned on by retail. I know people like that. I was working in an unnamed retail store in college (Target) and this woman calls me to offer me my first “real job”. So this woman says to me “what are you doing?” I tell her “I’m knee deep in batteries.” “Oooh!” she says. “Sounds kinky!” BITCH IF A PILE OF C BATTERIES SOUNDS KINKY TO YOU YOU’RE FUCKING DOING IT WRONG!
So speak to this motherfucker in his own language. “BLUE LIGHT SPECIAL IN THE HALL RIGHT NOW: YOU + ALL YOUR SHIT! thank you, come again.” hahaha.
Fuck that shit. You wanna eat at the Green Burrito 3 nights a week for the rest of your life? “How’d you like THAT movie?” “I liked it. You?” “It was ok.”
If the sex is half that lame… well, shit. That’s another blog entirely.
Now leave me the fuck alone.
Categories: Limp Dicks
Dear Murray
Dear Murray a tasty, tasty bitch beloved and feared by hordes of basement-dwelling illiterati and their fierce antagonists, the Grammar Nazis. He single-handedly turned the webcam whorefest of Myspace into a lively commerce of ideas, including whether or not the TUBGIRL photo will ever be topped as a postmodern expression of the inexpressible. According to web historians, he has inspired more photoshop projects and syphilis jokes than Britney Spears (who he has been repeatedly linked romantically to). He is also rumoured to be the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby, a disciple of Cliff Yablonski, and the second gunman on the grassy knoll. Although he could not be reached for comment, he reportedly resides in or near the tent cities along the LA River Basin, third right after the walrus sunning station.
He has vehemently denied all charges that he is any any way responsible for that rash your wife claims "is from the heat".
His primary function is doling out advice; the inspiration sprang from an endless and eventually dull repetition of fucktards failed to heed his words.
A secondary result is a dysfunctional family "round table" of people who contribute innumerable one-liners and personal experiences, rarely related in any way to the actual question.
It is estimated that tens of thousands of readers have "LOL'd" approximately 5,395,645,694,167,467,105 times, with the toll expected to rise.
He is immune to kryptonite, chlamydia, and brainwashing.
Wikipedia has banned PENCILTITS's entry, debating the relevance of his tasty bitchiness.