“Oh No I’m Sorry That Must’ve Been My Twin.”

I’ve decided I’m going to claim to the world that I have a twin. I’m basically a schizophrenic already as it is. I’m a fully functional law abiding citizen for about forty hours a week and then I become this dysfunctional mess living life in the fast lane. And now that I’m stuck swiping right on my phone, I figured I could blame all my pathetic pick up lines and failed attempts to meet girls as my twin brother. That is if they ever recognize me out.

I use tinder and other dating apps mostly while on I’m on the porcelain throne. Depending on what time you catch me answering you could assume what kind of Troy you’re getting. For forty hours you could get a timid kid who is insecure about every little thing or you could find yourself talking to a degenerate that is merely trying to make the most of the night he has before him.

They’re kind of on opposite sides of the spectrum. One thinks to much before he says anything and the other says something before he even thinks. One finds himself digging himself out of a whole and the other finds himself digging it. It can be drastically different at times, but either way the morals don’t change. We’re both looking for something.

I figured the safest solution is to claim I have a twin. If a girl ever calls me out for a lame line or a rude message, I can just blame him. I’ll just say he’s the one with the tinder and bumbler and hinge or whatever app she knows me from. I’ll stand by that he’s the one that sends all the confusing, risky, and all the kooky messages. But if they come up to me excited to meet me, I’ll dump the twin gig and be myself… evidently they’ve liked it. If things go south at least I have a cop out.

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