this sounds less like sad virginity and more like apathetic masturbation
CAN'T STOP, PART ONE
Pittsburgh, 2010. Wizz Khalifa’s mansion. An epic party. Sex on the inside, sex on the outside. Khalifa’s Chevrolet Impala SS, rattling like a washing machine. I was inside, in the passenger’s seat. Khalifa and Jared in the back. Wizz howled from Jared’s pounding, white Italian sausage. I stared into my phone screen, trying to ignore them. “Yeah, I’m Your Daddy…Ay, Wayne, you want summa this?” Joker cackled in my direction. I turned to look back at him. My crusty, tattooed face must have looked beautiful in the moonlight like that. I replied quickly, “Nah, I’m good, I jerked the ween earlier.” As if on cue, the speakers of the sports car began blaring Ween’s “Ocean Man” at max volume. “Oh fuck, here it comes,” moaned Wizz Khalifa, “GRAGHGATHAGTGHAGH.” I saw the piss leak, and I knew I had to get away from my husbands for a while. I opened the car door and stepped out as the urinary smell filled the vehicle, choking them both into a deep sleep.
I stood and stared into the bright yellow moon. I slipped my hand into my left leather pocket and pulled out a bunt. Yes, I smoke weed. I put it to my lips. Inhale, then exhale. I stared into that golden, punctured globe in the sky. What did the moon think of Lil Wayne? What did he see in me? Did he know something about life that I hadn’t? I put out my bunt and shook my head, and started walking towards the raving house party before me.