You're Only Bae Twice a/k/a The Return of Kodilla

Yet another unexpected text message pops up on my phone. I don’t know who this guy Michael is, that used to have my current phone number, but it’s getting pretty old, getting his texts, calls and pics. Evidently, he has a lot of service issues with DirecTV (big surprise) and is always on the verge of having his electricity turned off. Oh, and Michael? You need to pay your car insurance, too. I don’t know why he doesn’t have enough money to pay his bills. From most of the texts that I’ve read, Michael must have sold enough drugs to supply half of Philly, but I guess you can’t sell dope if you don’t pay your phone bill. Plus, I’ve had this number for about eight months now, so I’m assuming that these people that keep texting me aren’t exactly MENSA members, either. I’m also assuming that Darwin will work his magic, before too long…

Let’s get back to the story.

This text pops up on my phone:

Incoming Text: its kody aka k rock

Okay. And? The only people I know with an aka in their names probably like to do fun and romantic things like take long walks, appreciate sunsets, love puppies and  enjoy a good prison gang rape. Come to think of it, I don’t know anyone with an aka, in their name. And shouldn’t it be a/k/a, anyway?

Irritated Me: So Fucking what?

Like I said, I’m getting a little pissy about this stuff.

kody aka k rock: Huh

kody aka k rock: Figured you would want to know 

Figured that I’d want to know what? That you’re a dumbass? I think I already won the fucking prize for that.

Okay, I’ll be nicer to Mr. k rock Me: Whoever you’re looking for, this isn’t theory phone [number] anymore

Okay, I’ll be nicer to Mr. k rock Me: Their

kody aka k rock: Stop playkn babe

Stop playkn babe. Could it be? Holy shit! kody aka k rock must be Kodilla! I’m going to play it so smooth this time that I’ll be seeing titties in minutes. I’ve got a plan. I’m so fucking cool.

Smooth Me: Maybe if you send me a pic, I might remember you better

kody aka k rock: Ok ok hold on

Score! It was that easy! It only took seconds and I am laughing my ass off. As usual, my smooth moves, slick words and suave demeanor have conquered another woman. I mean, I can’t rely on my rugged good looks, alone.

Time passes and no pic. I guess Kodilla was just too shy, to send that pic, after all. No boobies, for me.
Sheesh, you’d think that after letting a guy give her a pearl necklace, she’d give up the goods, but noooo…

But the very next day (I feel like little bunny fucking foo foo, right here), a pic pops up in my notifications. I’m thinking that it’s the ex, sending me a pic of the little one doing something cute and adorable. It’s cute and adorable, because it’s my kid. If it were your kid, it would be fucking annoying.. So, I open it up and it’s from kody aka k rock and it’s not quite what I’m expecting. I’ve been cheated! There’s no Kodilla. There’s no titties. There’s nothing but some butt ugly dude, making a strange face and sticking his tongue out.

Insert pic of butt ugly dude here.

Let me tell you, my life is just an endless series of WTF? moments. I don’t know about you, but I sure could lead a much less interesting life. Really. I don’t know who, or what I assraped in a previous life, but I’ve surely paid my debt by now. Was I Stalin? No! So, back the fuck off, Karma, you bitch. I had a plan and shit and you and Mr. Murphy came along and assfucked me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckitty fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I just wanted to see some tits. Was that too much to ask?

No Titties For Me, Me: Dude, I’ve never seen you before in my life

kody aka k rock: ctfu up I know my boyy just told me I had his number wrong

Another thing that pissed me off was that I had to look up ctfu, using Urban Dictionary and that made me feel old. Cracking the fuck up. That’s stupid.

kody aka k rock: can I get a picture back?

Okay, I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m a guy and he still wants my pic.Yeah, no. Call me old-fashioned, but I’m just not into guys. It’s fine if you are, it’s just not for me. Women do get my blood flowing and I’m a pretty big fan of tits. Is that so wrong? Besides, I’m not that kind of whore. So, no dude, you can’t get a picture back. I don’t send pics of myself to anyone, for any reason, not even shirtless selfies in front of the bathroom mirror. The best you can hope for is a badly drawn stick figure.

In my mind, I thought, “Drat! Foiled again!” Or at least something to that effect. I’ll guarantee you that there was an “F” word of some sort, in there. I never sent a pic. I never answered back. The conversation ended there.

New rule, people, so pay attention. No one is allowed to message me, without first sending me a pic of female human breasts. Nice ones. Firm. Like melons. No exceptions.

Well, that’s the end, right there. No moral, no tidy ending. No titties, either.  
That’s the way life works, sometimes. Nothing more than Karma biting me in the ass. If you need to draw any conclusions from this meaningless story, if you need something to carry away and warm the cockles of your heart, take this – I Like Tits. Bodacious Ta-Ta’s. How’s that for a deeper meaning, motherfucker?