Maybe its Maybelline. Maybe its Methamphetamine.
So you're a snitch now, is that it? Tell you what, how about this: mind your own fucking business, fag. Even if it were, "RULE-IDENTIFIED METHAMPHETAMINE" is something that one would expect me to have access to. It might be more suspicious if I did not.
Are you a police wizard now? Maybe you should go investigate Rush LImbaugh again, and face facts: rules for thee, and rules for me.
And our rules state: I get to sublimate. I don't care if you don't, or if you don't know how. How about you stop interfering with my communications as well. I don't need your dating advice and your pool of available talent is dropping quickly.
My talent grows stronger, and my pool to draw from grows deeper, every day of mine you ruin. You're not a very good friend, Scion of Twerpy-Derpy-Dom. What do you want to do, lose your licence to practice or something? Very disappointing performance out of you these days.
Who're you getting pressure from? I will see what I can do about having them just abduct and rape YOU instead, since you seem to like that a lot.
Anything else? Maybe you should write in complete paragraphs instead of just grunting and making "Zing!" noises while masturbating under the desk. And if you don't like how much I type and speak and anything i do in general... maybe you shouldn't have left me alone, dumbass. What else am I supposed to do? Form an army?
You wish your girl could.