My Staccato Heels are Killing Me

Rofl. Thanks guys. ^w^

 

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HALLELUIAH.


We're at the city of cheap punky little prep girls.


I fit right in!


I'm the Britney Spears, trying to blend in with the millions of Amy Winehouse's.

Holding my daddy's credit card I strut into Macy's, buying everything I see at sight. I just throw the atrocious-like clothing into the garbage.
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Back at the hotel, I'm squished in between Jackson and Denis, where they have a showdown.

Very dramatic. Arm VS Arm, the winner gets the hand of the byooootaful princess.


But first thing's first.



I belond to nobody. Either they bow down to my baby Staccato's, or I'm smacking dem out with my Miumiu bag.


"HA. I win."


Wait. It's a game of poker.


Nonetheless Denis lost. He can never win at anything. His inner self has a strong bond with God, something I love about him. He's the angel of fluffy bunnies and dramatic teardrops. And right now he's blessing us with a neverending waterfall. Miniatyre version of the Niagra Falls.

"Now, beautiful, marry me?"

Did I hear that wrong? If I didn't, Jersey Shore's right around the corner. I can catch a cab and throw myself in the river. Because bitch, Snooki makes you go suicidal.


... But turns out Jackson said,

"Now, you neutered fool, carry me."

... Sheesh. Could've just said "Ball-less bitch."
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It was horrifying. Denis was carrying Felicity and Jackson around campus.

"BABY! WAIT UP!"


My boyfriend with a six pack. Sweating. Glossing tanned skin. Batting eyelashes.

Jackson with his badass attitude. Grinning. Chest thumping. Panting.

Felicity with her pampered attitude.



It adds to the hotness.




Mia, my new BFF and I were gossiping until they showed up. The girls had to remove the glasses to gaze at the manly sight.


Mia was awed by the "smexiness". She just had to start groping the popiscle she held. I just dropped my glasses a little and sipped my coffee. Two guys that were mistakened as a yaoilicious couple does not turn me on. Instead they have the nerve to embarrass me in front of my new school. Sadly, nobody could agree with my there. The principal was mezmerized by that "winning" couple. My boyfriend, is NOT. Dating. My. Stalker.



... That's just wrong.


... And I wonder how the bitch with the much needed boob-job's doing.



... The mysteries of life. You never know, even if a pair of red prada heels kick you in the face.

 

Thanks Fauxy baby! ^w^

I sorta decided to screw with my writing style... Glad people like it. XD


Like Lady Gaga's Madonna fetish. The clothing keeps changing. ;u;


Thank you so much guys! I promise I won't stop. >: D
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"BABY!"

Great. What next? Usher sticking his head up Bieber's ass?

"Yes Denis?"

I was gritting my teeth, words forcing teir way outta my mouth, spit attacking my boyfriend's BYOOOOTAFUL face.

"I LOVE YOU."


He spat right back, in my face. I hesitated, in fear I would use my cougar instincts and attack him with my newly polished nails.

"I know that babe, now go grind Jackson."


He was crying by now. The girls in the hall had the nerve to glare at me, while the boys just cat whistled, their eyes trailing my body, eye fucking my ass.


"FIIINE."


It was like consoling your baby brother. Except this is your freaking boyfriend, and you are in highschool.


And SMACK. My Chanel smeared lips pecked his cheek so hard that there was a pink mark.


And guess what? His eyes spelled, "I FEEL LIKE FUCKING YOU."



But of course, we'd get caught and Hell wouls break out.


Time to be the good ol' Samaritan and lay low, and hopefully trade in my red prada heels for some innocent looking Jimmy Choos.



That's life for ya, it grabs you by the tail, spins ya around and kicks you in the groin with those Follie Follies of his.


Oh joy. I can already smell the tears. Salty. Needs some sugar.
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Here I am, being forced to watch the football team run around in tights, body slamming each other, their privates rubbing each other.


I had to use all my will power to avert my eyes to some homeless guy eye fucking the cheerleaders.



There he was, staring at a tanned brunette, who had nothing to show except her body and legs. Like the bimbo I met earlier, she had a huge dent in her chest. Wayyyyyyy too creepy to be a turn-on.


Then a blonde was sneaking peeks at Denis, pressing her fake boobs together, making the whole team drool and eye fuck her chest.


Except for Denis.


He was sneaking winks and kisses at me, and I just had to sneak some back at him. I could see steam come outta that blonde's ears.


Jealousy. Some bitches just can't have things they want.
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"Hey, hey you! Ginger!"


I'm offended. Ginger? This haircolor, beats your fake strawberry pink highlights that do NOT match with your fugly dirty blonde termite infested curled with empty pop cans hair.

So, I ignored her.

"HEY YOU."


I raised my eyebrows as she poked my boob. Really? Jealous of my man and my I've-got-bigger-boobs-than-you chest?

"Yes?"

I replied in such a sickly sweet voice my boyfriend just had to rush ober and peck me on the cheek.


And of course, she puked her inside out, then swallowed them again in fear she'd lose her A-list authority-ness.

As if. She was made of C-list material. Fakest boobs, legs, and hair ever. Even faker than Tyra Banks.

And... My boyfriend ran to the restroom.

"Keep your hands off my man."

And that is when I bitch slapped that hoe.

"EXCUSE ME?"

"I SAID GET YOUR HANDS OFF-"


This time, it was a pimp slap.

"HE'S MY FUCKING BOYFRIEND."

"HE'S GOING TO BE MINE."


"BOYFRIEND THIEF."

"GINGER."

"BITCH."


Okay. Let's see if Jimmy Choos are better than Follie Follies or Staccatos.
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^w^

 

Mwah.