Rubs

Rubs. Rubbish. Baby.

“Whaddya mean you’re gonna wean me? That’s totes rubs!”

Rubs. Not a suspect variety of sensual massage that a middle-aged man with an above-averagely hairy back might journey to Thailand to receive, but an abbrev of rubbish. When you don’t get recalled for that second interview, have your heart pulverized by a total shit who just won’t commit, or max out your credit card shopping on Amazon whilst inebriated, friends may offer a consolatory, “Aw, babes, that’s rubs.”

“That Carly Rae Jepsen single is totes rubs.”

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