Fredrick is so ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ horny for art hoes. He want to ♥♥♥ all over a girl with thick frame glasses and edge dyed bobcut bangs. Every time he hears a THICK, waist-high-jean-clad braindead choker-wearing slutty Wiccan minx say “yikes,” y’all,” “big mood,” “cancelled,” or “this is a bop,” he gets an uncontrollable urge to run up to her and fondle her d cups and sweaty fat thighs. He wants to pour his white olive oil onto their contoured cheeks neotenous faces and rhinoplastized nose. He wants to finger an art hoe through her jean overalls while pretending to be interested as she talks about van gogh and arctic monkeys and how david foster wallace fans suck and gilles deleuze and VICE new and “union pool” in williamsburg and steven universe and homeopathy and saveur magazine and taking adderall to pass exams. HES SO. ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥. Horny.

YOU EDGE-GRABBED MY GHOST :((