It's been a good night at Jimmies, you have scored and after a phat pizza base trip you are both heading back to your place.

Unfortunately you live in moatside (curtasy of Graham 'the wet' towel).
After assuring your pull that you are not trying to mug them in the alleyway and wadeing through the trash of a tipped bin (so romantic) you head to get into your 'room' which is more like a fucking shoebox.

'mind the mould' you say in a sexy voice as you both climb over your pile of laundry as there is nowhere else to put it. You can see the disgust on their face.

Nevertheless you persist and get into it. It's a bit of a squeeze in your hobbit sized bed and thus spend more time falling out onto the sticky floor that hasn't been cleaned (thanks to the uni cutting costs for some new bloody college).

It all ends in an orgasmic climax. Not from you, not from your pull, but instead you room dumps it's load that been building up in the walls on you. Drenching everything in mouldy quagmire.

You pull quickly runs away.
Maybe you'll have more luck in Klute tomorrow. They are known to like it a bit more dirty

A few weeks ago, no one had “cheugy” in their vocabulary . Now everything is saturated with the word. It’s in our heads. It’s in our homes. Everyone is asking: “Am I cheugy? Am I a basic ass bitch? Am I GUILTY of being cheugy?”

The proliferation of cheugy in the mainstream discourse can only be attributed to one source: mental terror. It’s an orchestrated psychological trap to make you question your tastes and interests in the eyes of others.

You are not a cheug. YOU’RE PERFECT!!!!

It is very suspicious that the cheugy mascot is a Minion, a literal cyclops, a deformed
yellow panopticon in overalls ... do not let the all-seeing eye to control you. Be vigilant. Resist cheugy psyops.