We had sex. It was ok. I was drunk and I think you might have bit me at some point. Everything was fine until I went to check my email and saw an online shrine to all things Kirk. I thought it was a joke or an ironic quirk. I couldn’t have been more wrong. You really thought he was hot. You watched his Priceline commercials with frightening glee. You really liked him. You had his musical records, pillowcases, pictures and even a poster of you superimposed, kissing him. I couldn’t tell you why I wouldn’t talk to you anymore. Maybe it was because I was embarrassed to have ever been inside you. Maybe it was because I was afraid you’d stab me in my sleep. Either way, the last time we saw each other, you came over my house to give me a parting gift. You gave me a Rubik’s cube because you “couldn’t figure me out”.
Beam me up creepy.
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