Oh, hey. Fancy seeing you here.
With him.
I guess you’ve moved on, then, huh.
It didn’t take you but a minute
to find someone
to fill whatever hole was left
from my absence, did it?
I’m so glad Brad was there to help you out.
He seems
pretty capable.
What can he bench press:
like, everything?
Guess you didn’t need
some other bitter artist to keep you down this time
when you’ve got a piece like Brad.

I can just see it:
the two of you
arm in arm
walking down the boulevard
all capped teeth
and coiffed hair
everything just so.
You’ll be quite a pair.
So lovely.
So elegant.
So carefully precise.
You fucking deserve each other.

Your kids, I can imagine,
would be shoo-ins
for all the elite institutions.
Perfect specimens for the new regime.
They’ll have everything laid out for them
and that’s all you ever really wanted
isn’t it?
Jesus. I should have known
you’d never want a life of effort
of struggle
of existential dread.
How wonderful for you
and flyover family.

It’s so fucking cliche
to see you two
so picture perfect
but I think the worst is
I don’t think I ever saw the euphoria in your eyes
today when you’re with him
than any time you looked at me
not even at the beginning.

Obviously, there is a real connection for you
not the shallowness of your perfect bodies
intersecting in all the right ubermenschian ways.
Maybe you were meant, dammit.
Maybe you were destined.
So choke on your fucking happiness, Stacy.
May you be in joy and cocksucking pleasure together
for fucking forever.