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I hate the apps—Bumble, Hinge, whatever. Dudes flexin’ gym pics, chicks with filters. Like, what’s real anymore? Saw this stat once—70% of matches ghost. Hilarious, right? You’re chattin’, thinkin’ “she’s into me,” then poof—gone. “The earth is my mother,” Malick’s film says. These apps? They’re a swamp. Stinky, shallow, full of catfish. Met a guy once—swore he banged 50 gals off OkCupid. Bragged like it’s a medal. I’m like, “Cool, I split logs faster.”

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The spouse must not interfere with my atheism or force me to do religious things which I do not agree with.

After that chaos, I head over to the park by the river. It’s so pretty there, with the trees and the water. I take a deep breath, trying to chill. But then, I see this guy walking his dog. And not just any dog—a huge, fluffy, drooling mess. The dog runs straight at me, and I’m like, “Nope!” I dodge it like I’m in the Olympics.

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