Quietly Hostile

by Samantha Irby

I can’t live in hell and make excuses for ravenously consuming a shitty reality show produced by a person I don’t know personally on a network I am unaffiliated with. You can use “I like it!” (the exclamation point is necessary) any time some freak questions a regular-ass thing you enjoy, and it’ll swipe their legs out from under them every single time, and you can stand over their quivering body with your subpar tastes and laugh your face off.

“Don’t you wish you’d had a kid?” Do I wish I could stand idly by and witness all the things I hate about myself manifested in, and mirrored back to me by, a person it’s against the law for me to kill? I absolutely do not!

Hilarious

If you like getting your ass slapped hard as hell, I love that for you, but I gotta be treated like a two-hundred-year-old haunted doll in bed.

and the only tool I have to shout it down is one I developed called “Wedding Guest,” which mostly involves repeating “You are not the bride” over and over to myself when I get overwhelmed about being seen by other human eyes and only having greasy sweatshirts at my disposal to present myself in.

Hilarious

I’m not gonna yell myself hoarse trying to convince someone with a belly full of my food standing in a house whose deed has my name on it of some political point that, if we’re being honest, I don’t really care about that much.

Also hilarious