I May Be a Bastard...

...But I'm not a fuckin' bastard. To finish the quote properly. But really, maybe I am a fuckin' bastard. Who gives a shit?

She got upset when she decided to read my blog. She talked to me about it, I still don't understand why, but I made her the offer that I'd never make an allusion to her again. Turns out my offer holds as much water as hers does.

I don't wish any harm on her. I don't hate her, and I don't want anyone else to either. This is the only venue where I feel okay talking about the big deal shit in my life and how it affects me. This is where I vent. I'm sure it's far harder for me to bottle everything up than it is for her to not take the time to navigate to this page and read up on the thoughts of a guy that isn't worth her time.

Reader, I don't give a shit if you think I'm sick or pathetic, obsessive, a true romantic, retarded, whatever. This is the end of my every day. This is what I go to bed with every night. This is running through my brain every minute of every day, so if the few minutes it takes for you to inform or entertain yourself makes you uncomfortable, good. If it makes you unhappy with who I am, then fist yourself in the ass, up to the shoulder. When you choke on your knuckles, it won't make a goddamned shit to me. I already have enough on my mind.

Anyway, she ain't coming back. She doesn't give a shit about me. The only reason she even read anything was to find out what someone else in the world thought about her. Hopefully that isn't true, but as I've said before, about having hope of being with her again- Hope is the ladder we climb, only to make the fall that much more painful. So fuck it. My hatred for life is a direct result of the irresponsibility we both had with my heart. I can't lay all the blame on her for that. But if she feels bad about what I write and won't do anything to fix it, then she can have her fucking fratboy status booster and piss herself with discontent until they both drown in discontented piss. She made her choice and left me with none.

Jay Reatard died, and Greggy Boosh was the first to introduce me to his music. It's Greggy Boosh's birthday. Sorry Greg. Happy birthday anyway.

And for good measure- the word "cunt".