In FRISKY FRIDAY by The Ajland

Oh haiii, I accidently deleted the original draft of this post when my Virgo brain decided to clean my computer folders at 3 AM with exhausted eyes. While I’m hoping I remembered all my original points, it’s 10:30 on a Thursday and I’m tired as fuck, so that’s probably gonna be a no.

As mentioned in my last post, I was doing a series on Fuckboys, as well as Fuckgirls. In Vancouver we call them ‘Vancouver Specials’ but I’m sure every city has their own name for that type of chick. I know I said I was going to post this the following week, but I’ve been extremely busy. And by busy, I mean binge-watching all 4 seasons of Black Mirror (existential crises included) and then another 2 of this show called The Arrangement. Of course they cancelled that one the day after I finished it because that’s just how my luck works.

In addition to that, my language learning expanded into Korean and Japanese, so not only do I have multiple personalities, but they’re all speaking in different languages now. Blackout Ajla has also been hopping in and out like a bat out of hell during all this, but hey, we’re not here to talk about my prelude to alcoholism. To the good stuff we go!


Examples in my posts are always exaggerated. Also, before you get offended, I fully have to acknowledge that I am guilty of a couple of the listed Fuckgirl traits. So, if you feel like a piece of shit – it’s okay, I’m one too.

1. Drink & Dump Fuckgirl

Not to be confused with your girl friends or girls that come out that genuinely want to have a good time. Bottle rats are the type that only come around to your table simply because you have a table. While you probably got it for this reason in the first place, the bottle rats are only pretending to enjoy your company. Once that liquor is gone, they scatter like cockroaches. Perhaps they’ll be polite enough to whisper to you, “Hey, we gotta run to the washroom real quick, be right back”. With that, you’re probably thinking they just went off to do a quick bump; alas, they never return. You might see the bottle rat again that night, but she’ll be over at the next table that just ordered bottles. Oh, and she’ll always ask you to order that bottle of Dom because duh, if I can’t post it on my IG story, the night was wasted. You didn’t think you’d be in any of the footage though, did you?

It can be hard to decipher bottle rats from the ones that are genuinely interested. Keep an eye on girls who treat you like a promoter or even worse says shit like, “Ugh! If there isn’t a table, I don’t wanna go” – Then pay for it yourself, broke ass bitch.


Some people use Instagram to look at food pictures, some use it to spy on their exes new beau, and some use it to find their new John. Let’s be real, not everyone’s making money as an Instagram Influencer. Somehow though, we’ve got bevys of unemployed girls riding yachts in Turks & Caicos once a month with their girlfriends – Make it make sense.

That’s not to say every model on Instagram is selling pussy, lots of girls are legitimate models; Lots of girls are making legitimate money too. However, funding your lifestyle has never been easier thanks to social media. While I’d love to get into it, other sources have already broken it down better than I have the patience to do. But hey, pussy is in exchange for money is a tale as old as time. Get it how you live it, baby.


“I offered to pay for the bill.. she insisted to pay half. Didnt fight it, but only had a large bill so I pocketed her money and put my bill in. Anyway long story short I did the math wrong and stole 20 bucks from her. She sarcastically said “thank you” and I thought she was being sincere..”

– by mkramer4 [Reddit]


Then on the other side of the spectrum, we have the user fuck girls. These ones also want your money but you aren’t getting anything in return, including pu$$y. You couldn’t even call this fuckgirl if you had a problem and needed someone to talk to. They’ll message you when they’re hungry and suggest an upscale restaurant, but naturally, pulling out their wallet and offering to pay is a foreign concept to this one.

Suggestions to take them shopping or on trips are also common with this type. Don’t even think about saying no, because you’ll be referred to as the broke guy in the group chat.

TL;DR – If you’re treating men like an ATM and money’s your only criteria, the least you could do is put out.


Funny enough, I was visiting my sister in Long Beach last month (or the month before…? where the fuck has this year gone?…) and didn’t have any Zzz-quil with me to sleep. Side note: Zzz-quil is made from the heavens above. I don’t know how I lived without it but I’m pretty sure withdrawal is going to be a bitch. Anyways, my brother-in-law was all, “Smoke some weed, you’ll sleep just as well.” He wasn’t wrong, but it was after I demolished everything edible in the house. Literally everything. Fuck my life. It was like a raccoon unleashed in a freshly stocked bakery.

Prior to my diet collapse, I had some sort of existential epiphany on how embarrassing entire Instagram pages were of just selfies and what not. Camera rolls filled with basically the same picture, posted to IG with a slightly different head tilt. I literally felt ashamed to look at my own page. Once I sobered up, I forgot about it, clearly, considering I’m still whoring my face all over my social media for all of you. The shame was there for a second, though. Told you I was a fuckgirl, didn’t I?

On that note, people notice when you delete that one picture and post it later for more likes. People also notice your inverted walls. 


It’s not photoshopped, I swear.


“Last night, my wife’s boss from her brand new job invited us over for dinner. On the drive over, my wife reiterated many times to me just how important it was to make a good impression. I scoffed and arrogantly informed my silly wife that I always make good impressions.

My wife’s boss is a single lady in her fifties, so it was just the three of us. We chitchatted over drinks and salads and seemed to really be hitting it off. She laughed at my well-timed, perfectly-appropriate jokes and my wife seemed pleased. Soon she brought out the main course, a nice big juicy steak for each of us. As I began to cut into my steak, I was discouraged to discover how under cooked this steak was.

Now, I’ve had my fair share of rare steak. I prefer medium, but I can handle rare. This was several-minutes-on-a-hot-grill short of rare. I probably could’ve resuscitated the cow had I tried. Instead, I sat there fidgeting with my knife and fork, worrying about how I was going to get away with not eating this steak. Claim vegan-ism? No, I’d already feigned great enthusiasm upon seeing the steak.

Just then, our hostess excused herself to the kitchen to take care of some dessert preparations. As I looked across the fancy dining room table at the open window of this 3rd story apartment… a cartoon light bulb appeared over my head. I knew I had to be decisive, realizing that she could return at any moment. I committed. I grabbed the steak with my hand, gently shook off the juice and executed a perfect throw right through the center of the open window.

Here’s the big time FU. The window wasn’t open. It was the cleanest fricking window you’ve ever seen in your life. That is, until my mostly raw slab of steak slammed up against it and slowly slid down leaving a trail of bloody juice in its wake.

My wife – who’s steak was a nice medium rare and was unaware of my predicament – turned, jaw dropped, and stared at me like I was an alien from another planet. This look then slowly morphed into more of a there-is-no-place-on-this-planet-you-can-ever-hide-from-me expression of demonic anger. My wife’s boss heard the thud of the steak-on-window impact and came quickly. She took in the scene, the steak sitting on the window sill, the blood trail, my empty plate, and then gave me an inquisitive, puzzled look.

I just didn’t know what to say. It felt like a minute of silence, but was probably 3 or 4 seconds. Finally, the best I could manage was “I… I’m so sorry. I am such a clutz… I don’t know… I was just cutting it.. and… it… … it slipped… just ask my wife, I really am a clutz… right honey?… (no help coming from that direction) … I will clean this up… I can’t believe this… I am so sorry” etc… etc… Both women continued to stare at me like I had escaped from the loony bin, as I smeared the blood around the window with my cloth napkin, dusted off the steak, and continued to mutter my incoherent explanation. I knew no one was buying the story.

I knew what I had to do. I sheepishly returned to my seat and proceeded to eat every bite of that disgusting, cold, chewy, bloody, raw steak. I remained pretty quiet the rest of the evening. My wife’s only two words to me since the incident are “I’m fine.”

 by defenestrate_me_nowx10 [Reddit]


A short definition of ‘breadcrumbing’ is basically keeping someone’s unrequited interest in you and completely self-serving. It’s kinda like I don’t want you but I’m gonna make sure you don’t forget about me. The breadcrumb fuckgirl knows she’d never date the guy but the ego boost is just too much to let go of. Ghosting dudes only to shoot them a text when she’s been lacking attention lately. Plans? No way, the breadcrumber is non-committal; you’re simply a standby option in case they don’t find a better option for the evening. Do you like blue balls? I hope you like blue balls.

That’s it, that’s all, folks! If you’re looking for some more Frisky Friday, with an emphasis on the ‘Frisky’:

Dating in the Millennial Era
When the relationship ain’t bumpin like it used to
How to actually pick up girls
Fucking 101
Whose mans is this?
Bitches be cray

If you find yourself lonely this summer while avoiding fuckgirls, my dear friend would love to spend time with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my Botox injector, wine, and my Marilyn Manson playlist. Hope you all have the best weekend, and as always, thanks for reading. xoxo