I can’t count the ways that I’m glad I’m not a Kardashian. I don’t have to carry around the largest slab of glass and titanium in my hand all the time because my clothes are so tight there’s no room for it. In addition, the tightness of my wardrobe invites a gynecological exam. My ass is so big from cosmetic surgery that I look like an ostrich running around. How difficult it must be to try and realize that the world cares about any of that shit and I have to constantly remind the internet that they should care how big my ass is. And please forget that I used to be married to some dumbass who thought he was a rapper but was actually a rapist. My mom used to be my dad. My sisters are so confused they want to be me.

Come on people….please forget about me.