I Turned Myself Into A Bad Girl And I Got Myself A Man To Prove It


Ladies, I know its hard out there to scoop up a man. I was struggling myself until I realized there’s a better way to attract hotties than wearing cardigans and joining the Junior League. That better way is by being a bad girl. Men love a sexy bad girl who can take control of any situation with her permitted concealed weapon or subdue predators (both human and animal) with Jujutsu. Bad girls have it all; style, confidence, and a criminal record. Now you’re probably thinking to yourself, “how can I shed this cashmere cardigan of innocence and become a bad girl?” Well, that’s what I’ve stepped off my dirt bike to tell you. 

I was just like you once; when people asked I told them my favorite book was Harry Potter and when they talked about sex I blushed so hard, blood vessels in my eye would pop. I was a stone-cold good girl who dreamed about gourmet desserts and wine with my girls.  Life was fine, except in one area: men. I couldn’t even snag a man with an industrial fishing net. I had the looks and the bod, but I just didn’t have the right attitude; I was cute and coy, and always had a baggie of almonds in my purse in case my “tummy got rumbly” at the bar. I knew I needed something more; I knew I needed to be bad. So I turned my life around. Now, when I talk explicitly about my sex life, other people’s eyes begin to hemorrhage, and if you asked me what my favorite book was I’d tell you “Reading is for nerds” and punch you in the nuts. 

Becoming bad is a slow process. Badness works through osmosis so before you can undergo an inner change, you must forgo an outer change. I started with a simple chest tattoo that reads: “Danger Lives In Me”. Then I redid my wardrobe exchanging all my innocuous baby blue pieces for black leather. For footwear, I skipped out on the combat boots, and went for Crocs, because the same way people’s moral codes guide them away from associating with a bad girl, moral codes also keep people from associating with a person in Crocs; thus hyping up my do-not-disturb-danger factor. I ditched my pewter charm bracelet for gold necklaces decorated with sacrilegious symbols and swastikas. I know you’re thinking that’s a pretty bold move, well antisemitism is bad so there you go. Bad is bad. 

Once you start looking bad, the world begins to react to the badness they perceive to be oozing out your pores. You are no longer introduced into the scene with soft piano playing in the background; rather your intro music are the menacing sounds if a slide guitar played by a talented junkie. This is when the badness will begin to take over; your very marrow will begin to crave chewing tobacco. You’ll stay out all night looking for someone wearing Ed Hardy to fight. You’ll burn down a JC Penny. You’ll wake up in the morning hungry for a McDonald’s Egg McMuffin; which is a bad way to start your day.

Now the badness is in your guts. The nucleus of every cell in your body is wearing a pair of shades. But don’t think just because your fists are always bleeding from fights that you’re the perfect bad girl. Have you noticed yet that even though you are bad literally to the bone (your marrow craves chewing tobacco) that you still haven’t hooked your dream man? That’s because men like bad girls that don’t just look and smell bad, but act bad. This is how I reached the top level of badness. 

We all know actions speak louder than words, so I quit talking about how you’re going to kidnap the president and actually did it. Men really respond to a woman bold enough to attempt to hold the POTUS ransom. Even if that woman is spending seven life sentences in a high security prison on the charges of treason, kidnapping, and sexual harassment. Men see her scars from secret services warning shots and the many shivs of prison and think “Damn. That’s the woman for me.”

And that’s how I met the love of my life; Antonio “Whiplash” Watterson. Before Antonio, I had a slew of suitors; all of them googly eyed over my master plan to over throw America. The men were coming in at a steady rate, but their pleas of love and questionable dental hygiene just weren’t doing it for me. Then, Antonio appeared. One day he was lured by a New York Post headline “Barack O-Gone-A: The President is Kidnapped!” and read my story. He said he saw the picture of me flying down Pennsylvania avenue with the Commander in Chief hog tied on the back of my dirt bike and said “that’s the baddest damn woman I’ve ever seen. I don’t think my heart has ever been this joyous since I watched that lady cop pistol whip a boy tampering with an ATM.” He drove straight to the North Carolina Women’s Correctional Facility and asked to go steady the second I stepped into the visitation room. 

So you see ladies, snagging your dream man isn’t all about laughing loudly at bad jokes and sadly sipping on martinis: it’s all about becoming the biggest baddest most heavily sentenced woman in all of America. Then the boys will be sliding up to you on their bellies begging for you to take their number. And don’t worry becoming one of the most loathed characters in American history; like any renegade, you’ll still have fans in the parts of Oregon plagued by meth abuse.

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