you know who you are. your feeble attempts to contact me and “chip away at the ice” are starting to really ruffle my dander; good luck chipping away at the glacier that took the titanic down with a plastic spork. i could be bitter and vindictive and tell you to fuck off, but i’m a better person than you are. you can’t win me back with your house and tax returns. i’m not impressed. also, a friendly reminder that i hate kids and you happen to have one about knee high to a grasshopper that doesn’t need a parade of women in her life. you fucked up, and i will never forgive you.
having said that, WHAT’S UP FUCKERS. i’ve missed the witty repertoire of the modern philosopher and the insatiable ability of you all to keep plugging away with your personal blogs. i fucking don’t crush dicks with my posts anymore. mainly because there are none. but it’s the thought of one that counts. to me. shut up.
life lesson number fucking ONE i have to bestow upon you all (the 3 that are probably skimming through right now) is to never work in the service department at an understaffed car dealership.
my xanax is wearing off, so here’s where I sign off before a steaming bitch pile of fuckery lands atop your virtual heads. i love you all in a creepy cyber connection kinda way. until next year my lovable peers.
p.s please tell me not to quit my job.