I used to complain mob, eh? Of, “These fake newspaper editors! They are Fools. Always asking people to write irrelevant things about relationships. Always asking us to tie our precious names to articles like “If he twists his bum away when he farts, he loves you” and “Are long nails good or bad for relationships?”
But now that there’s nobody telling me what to write about, there’s nothing else, absolutely nothing that I feel like writing about but relationships.
Well not relationships.
Not even Crushes.
A certain cool loser has wangled themselves into my head. They’re like avjar, but without the class. No decency at all! So this is (an extremely) OPEN letter to them.
You stupid virus. You nasty, black hearted creature of beauty.
You’re such a loser. Don’t you have better things to do than lie all day on the couch of my mind’s living room, eating popcorn off the floor and pissing on the cushions?
Stupid for being so gorgeous.
I really really hate your beautiful, perfectly formed, deep, healthy, clever guts.
You know? I think this is what Neyo and Rihanna in their lousy way were trying to sing. That song of I hate that I love you was supposed to be titled ‘I Hate Your Freaking Gorgeous Guts and Your Stupid Good Heart and Your Pretty Face’.
I truly, from the bottom of my heart, hope that as you’re getting into the elevator, you’ll slide and fall and break your face. Then you’ll stop looking so good. Then I’ll get some work done.
I hope that when you enter the elevator(broken face and all), its floor will fall open and then all your workmates will laugh at you and call you fat.
Go away. Get thee hence. I don’t want to like you.
Miz kyrte feels better already.
No. Not really.