Another fucking Saturday night alone with my vibrator and a bottle of whiskey. You’d think at 37, I’d have at least one warm body to climb on top of, but no. Instead, I’m stuck fantasizing about someone actually appreciating this fucking body—my tits, my ass, my pussy—without treating me like some goddamn novelty because I’m four feet tall. Maybe someday I’ll find a guy who doesn’t just see a shortstack fetish but actually wants to fuck me like a woman, not a fucking doll. Until then, it’s me, my Hitachi, and this bottle of overpriced bourbon. Cheers to loneliness, you pathetic fucks.