Page 1 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

Get Out Of This Pucking Situation

~MIKAYLA~

Periods.

Every woman in existence must hate them. They’re the ultimate culprit for making women do the most drastic shit in a matter of twenty-four hours.

Honestly, that’s the excuse I’m using for the fucked-up mayhem I’ve gotten myself into.

I mean, that has to explain my current predicament… right? Staring at myself in the mirror, I’m absolutely regretting what I did last night after getting shit-face wasted because I couldn’t find a good enough cock to ride and distract myself from all the spiraling thoughts.

The vibrator just wasn’t going to do.

My bestie is going to take one look at me and pee her pants at my recklessness.

No going back now…

How are there are no reversible hair dye solutions in 2025?

You’d think by now that someone—any genius who’s fallen into a predicament like mine—would stare in the mirror after drunkenly dying their hair because they miss their past lovers and are sexually frustrated they can’t find someone better in the fuck-me-tonight roster, would create a PLAN B reversible dye solution by now.

God, I’m being overdramatic right now. Keep calm, Mikayla! This can be fixed. No need to—

“WHAT IN GODS NAME HAPPENED HERE?!”

Aww. It was good while it lasted.

I cringe at the shrill voice as I slowly glance at the door with puppy eyes to see my beloved best friend, who looks like she walked into a murder scene.

Okay. Getting red dye all over a polished white bathroom wasn’t a smart move when you match it with all the red wine stains from last night.

“I can explain?” I don’t sound sure.

“Bitch, you better explain or else tell me to go to fucking Home Depot right now before they close! I can grab a shovel, that sturdy grey tape shit, and anything else we need to hide a body!” My sweet bestie is already pulling out her phone. “I guess we need bleach, right? They use that in crime movies and shit?”

“Girl, you don’t know shit.” I’m laughing because my girl, Alexandra Mackenzie Andrews, hasn’t survived watching a full-length show without falling asleep in years.

Let alone crime shows.

The only thing she can manage without going into the realms of sleep is TikTok, and even that is pushing it.

I always used to tease her that if we brought her to a hockey game, she’d probably sleep through the entirety of it. Apparently, when it comes to the live games, she can handle it because it gives a “thrill” or whatever.

Put the game on a 65” screen tv, and my girl is gone while standing. Literally.

“Google will be more helpful than you!” she huffs and types furiously on the screen of her android. “You should be lucky I love your ass, or I’d be jumping out the window and over the hills!”

“First off, this is the third floor, McDs,” I tease her with one of the plentiful lists of nicknames I had for her.

Don’t know why the Mackenzie in her name stuck in people’s heads more than Alexandra, but after fighting against it the majority of her life, Alexandra just gave up and let everyone call her whatever stuck in their brains.

“Second, Google ain’t going to show you how to hide a body.”

“Ya, it does,” she says matter-of-factly. “Look... there’s a tutorial.”

This bitch can’t be serious.

“THIRD,” I emphasize while waving my arms to get her attention. “You’re going to break your phone typing like that.”

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