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"Not interested, thanks."
"Fuck you, you ugly fat ho."Or:"Wanna suck my dick?"
"No."
"You slut."The logic is flawless.Before humans learned how to screencap things, women would share these oral tales round a sewing circle, but now we can all laugh collectively at these douchecanoes. And my most recent Bye Felipe encounter is, if I have to say so myself, one for the ages.A dozen years ago, in 2003, I spent two hours in the company of one such Felipe, and I have always wanted those two hours back. He was a suit-and-condo clone and a self-described Brad Pitt lookalike.We met at a bar in Toronto called Hemingway's, which is one of those bars frequented by guys who think they look like all-together Don Draper but really look like hungover Don Draper. If I'm being honest, I don't remember much of what we talked about or really anything about him. He didn't make much of an impression, but I do remember going back to his place and sitting on his face just to shut him up. I was bored, he was boring. Some 45 minutes later, I was home. And I never saw him again.He asked to see me again, of course. Back then, I was in my early 20s and less adept and telling guys to take a hike, so instead of telling him I wasn't interested, I told him I was menstruating. (Side note: ladies, that line is the easiest way to separate the boys from the men.)Over the past 12 years, he has messaged me sporadically. At first I thought he was just saying hello, but each conversation quickly revealed itself as an opportunity for him to insert some dirty smut into an otherwise innocuous conversation.
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