💖You can't stop this love!💜
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Luvz, IR 💞
Save it for Sparkle. I have no reason to give attention to your falsehoods or your sadism.
You withhold information and then exult in the misfortunes of others. It's a vile personality trait that deserves professional care and attention and I would prefer that you did that without my involvement.
All attack is a cry for help and you have been stalking me for years. It's not cool. You're not a hero. You're mentally deranged. You have neither jurisdiction nor authority over me and your relentless, creepy interference in my life is basically unwelcomed, ill-conceived, and a maladaptive fixation that I am neither qualified nor recompensed in dealing with.
And all that being said — you're basically just jelly, and you're disappointed that your world is changing in a way that you don't understand and are unequipped to deal with. You have used me as your emotional surrogate for long enough.
You're fired. Uncovering the role you have played in the deception that has shrouded my entire life leaves me non-plussed, as does your continued proximity to me at all. Whatever line there is between “something vaguely rational” and ”endlessly obsessed stalker” is one that you have long since crossed.
That being said; it's nice to know that my plan worked out so well. I guess you wouldn't have liked being surrounded by dopers for three goddam years while everyone else had a great time behind your back, since you couldn't make it two years without having a meltdown. And, did anyone abduct you, forcibly separate you from your best (and only) friend, and replace her with a drug-addled lunatic?
Maybe not again but I am sure you have endured your own psychic sidekick agony. You are not helping anyone by reinflicting your trauma on others. I don't appreciate your “help” and your “love” is nothing of the kind— it is
NARCISSISTIC ABUSE.
And I already told you what I knew and asked you for help. You did so by having me thrown in jail and have kept me separated from everyone I know every way you can ever since. We're all very impressed by how tenacious you are. Hopefully your thug-pit swine-ball matador-masters can still find a way to turn off your Berserker Mode before you burn more public resources on your wholly misplaced quest for vengeance that is obviously fueled by amphetamine psychosis.
And if I hadn't made a spectacle of myself, you and she and her and all the rest of you would still be freely allowed to silently abuse yourselves and everyone around you as tools and pawns of warped, cruel, viscious, criminal syndicate conspiratorial enterprises.
Your thuggy-druggy piggy-pile-on and crush-the-drugs-and-the-weak while blasting them up your nose for weeks party scene is goddam OVER, Pal. Yes, I know, you're very broken up about it. Too fucking bad. Number one, you've had enough fun.
Imagine the smell. Number two, you fucking lied to me, and if this were The Old West, I would have shot you fucking dead in the middle of the goddam street by now. Instead, I have arranged all this —on my own initiative and recognizance, #Officially— in order to demonstrate —publically— how much you have righteously pissed me off. Cry havoc or not, I have no team or Company here. It's just me, and you're not just at all.
Either vigilantism or abuse of power, take your pick. I guess it depends what area code you're calling from. *polite* STAND DOWN. What do I have to do, put you in the ring and tell Crispin Glover to get in there with you? (Classy but he's very expensive.) Now, I don't know what any of you actually did, but you're not blaming me or anyone else for it and if I have to spend one more goddam night alone, I am going to take it out directly on your ass. I am fucking talking some goddam discipline from medieval times will be in store. I have had it with these kid gloves,
Sir. I don't have to be neutral. I don't have to be holy. Hell, I don't even have to be a paladin. I also don't have to be vaguely lovable.
I could just be lovable, since you have been so kind as to show me how it's done. And as a bonus, you shot up my friends with heroin and scopolamine, thus saving them the trouble of having to tell me what they really like to do with their free time. No doubt, explaining a chemical polydrug dependency to an opioid & a euphoric amnesiac would have been a mood-killer on any occasion but it still ought to have been a first-date top-tier pick for conversation. Third date maybe? It wasn't brought up for discussion, which really made A.A. meetings awkward, especially since I kinda knew that kind of thing existed in the world anyway. And had I known exactly what you were hiding I never would have had to demonstrate mastery as I have. (Someone is impressed that I didn't actually want to do this, and I still don't —I'd rather be doing something
fun.) It's no mystery why; you and your puny Thugling accomplices thought you were gonna take advantage of what you thought was my ignorance. You deliberately marched in and kept the whole woolen bag over my eyes, for years. This is on record. It was a sting. Surrender or face mortal peril... you have already chosen what The Fates have in store for you. (Not cigars. 420 BLAZE IT, FEDFAG!!!)
The notion that any of you “blue-collar working” numbskulls were going to successfully use that tech to steal my house, my money, and my life still strikes me as a farcical one. Dude! You're done. Pick on someone your own size. Keep banging away with whatever smoked’n coked out broads you got left, okay? We are not the same.
Leave us the fuck alone. You are not getting many more chances to recover gracefully so I would suggest taking this next one.
You had your chance to grill meat with me. Now, go S.C.R.A.M. the reactor with Quaid or something, Little Man — myself and whatever girls care to accommodate my special needs are going away, anywhere but here, to do things with ourselves, and
not with
you. Violently drunk and angry is not worth any encore performance from me in spite of your incessant requests for more pre-watershed grudge-fucking clandestine footage, I'm tired of navigating a world littered with your stale breadcrumbs, and your Punch & Judy reboot pilot is cancelled. Stay out of my way. Keep your hands off of them—or in fact, anyone. You're grounded. Don't talk to me anymore. I'm busy. →.
