Craigslist: Best of Craigslist Austin

What do I want in return? Well, I'm pretty broke. Our breakup left me essentially pennyless, but whatever. I'm willing to accept anything in return (extra points if YOU have a tshirt rug made from your evil ex's shirt that you would like to trade). Here's the catch though...you have to promise to abuse this rug. I mean straight up abuse it. Make it a front door mat so everyone can wipe their feet on it. Put it under your cat's litter box. Hang it on the wall and throw offensive things at it...I don't care. But if you could send me a photo of the rug once you've had your filthy way with it, I would be much obliged :D

This is a small photo of the rug in question. It is quite large, and if you want, I have a couple more shirts of his that I would gladly attatch to this rug, making it much larger. If you would like a better photo, please just ask, and I will send one your way. But please, serious offers only. This is a work of art, and I am quite proud of it.

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask.

I can't believe I ate ants for you - w4m

When you had a small group over for bbq at your place I pretended I didn't notice the tortilla chips had ants all over them and ate them anyway. I didn't want to cause a scene in front of your friends and make them question the sanitary quality of the food they were about to eat. Now that I have gotten absolutely nowhere with you I deeply regret this decision.

My Missed Connection with Hard-Earned Cervical Annihilation. - w4m

Okay, look: I know there's been a lot of buildup. All those sloppy drunken looks, rubbing thighs on beer-soaked couches, me all dopey-smiley watching you roll around on the floor and scream for your band. One time you showed up unexpectedly at a party, and I Febrezed myself in the bathroom so you would think I smell pretty. We go together like bacon and eggs. Like hookers and blow.

And then, finally, I mustered up the ovaries to openly proposition you. We rolled around in bed for a while. I fumbled for the goods, and scha-BLAM! Your next generation, all over my hand. It was cool, though. We were excited.

But this last time, we were relatively sober. I was in peak condition! I pulled my clothes off all slow-like, then crawled up the bed, making dick-happy noises, getting girl-juice on your leg. I had just enough Schlitz in my system to administer a truly impassioned blowjob without picking the lint from your belly button (it was distracting, but the sheer force of libido compelled me to let this slide). You got all thigh-quivery. I made my move.

Slowly, I pried my mouth away from your kickstand and straddled you. Sweet Mother of God, did you ever feel good! I began to slowly grind, kissing your neck, my hand in your hair...

When, all of a sudden, you picked me up by my hips and threw me. THREW me! I came crashing down on the bed to your left, a truly impressive mid-coital bodyslam. Cunthurt and bewildered, I am immediately turned to inquire, "What the fuck?"

You responded by spraying your boy-goo all over my tummy!

Okay, listen: I know I'm good at what I do. But three minutes is not acceptable. I've seen virginities come and go in faster time. And just going to sleep was pretty uncool, too. I'm a woman, and sex is a buyer's market for me. I shouldn't have to jerk off in my bathroom, fantasizing about the goddamn video store clerk while you sleep in my bed.

You gotta step up your game, baby. Or I'll find another guy with dumb tattoos to annihilate my cervix for you.

Pheromone Assault - m4w

I was trying desperately to pay attention/stay awake during the lecture on Saturday, when, much to my surprise, I was visited by an erection. Not just any erection, but my very own. How could this possibly be happening in such a benign and sterile environment? The break rolled around. Time to get up, very cautiously, at that, collect my seemingly uncontrollable libido and refocus my attentions on...basically anything besides my package. Lo and behold, as we reconvened, again I was struck with the terror I haven't felt since I was sixteen years old. My only conclusion is that ovulation had someone spitting olfactory arousal like a garden sprinkler. Please, do me, and my member, a favor the next time your uterus is screaming for seed; wear a sweater, or latex panties, or a cellophane body suit. Anything to keep your hormonal telekinesis under wraps.