a-fragile-sort-of-anarchy:

whoamiamneko:

a-fragile-sort-of-anarchy:

I’m going to save up for a new motorcycle by running a scam where I bet straight dudes at bars twenty bucks that I can get a girl’s number in under five minutes and then politely walk up her and say, “I just bet that asshole twenty bucks that I could get your number. I’ll split it with you if you pretend to laugh like I just said a good pick up line and then write a fake number on my hand.”

Like, I never understood those kind of bets in those shitty teen movies. Everybody loves being part of a scheme, man. Use your head.

If anyone ever does this to me I’ll call them out on being a con artist.

Joke’s on you, buddy. That’ll only have consequences the first, what, couple dozen times? I can take a punch.

But then eventually, I’ll have money for the bike, and whenever I get called out, I’ll just speed off, and, sure, maybe I crash and die in a gutter and the police can’t figure out why I have hundreds of fake phone numbers stuffed in my jacket and it launches a huge investigation that becomes sort of a local legend, but you know whose problem that is? Not fucking mine.

Because I’m a slutty motorcycle ghost, and who’s gonna’ stop me then? The ghost cops? Nice try. Everybody knows cops can’t become ghosts because they just go straight to hell. It’s basic math.