Speaking of David, we're considering another camping trip and juggled the idea of inviting you.
I don't believe you.
We think it would be an absolute delight to drag you out of your tent at night and be the fucking bricks of you.
I don't know what you're waiting for.
We have anonymity, alibis, and money.
Let me know when you have any class.
You in? 
For what? You're not my problem, and I'm not yours... I have nothing to do with your substance abuse problems and the associated complications that invariably accompany them. Maybe you should try power-walking or macrame or needlepoint or something, instead of relentlessly punishing the few remaining neurons you've got on your team that are working for you instead of merely for another hit of dopamine at any cost. How about wargaming with tabletop miniatures?
You know—
a hobby. That last one seems like it would be a good fit for you. Truth be told, I have no idea what problem any of you have with me. This makes it hard for me to understand what you're trying to convey.
You dopes sure are used to getting your own way. I think most people learn to cope with that fact in an adult fashion long before the time of their lives that you now find yourselves in.
Anyway, I get that you're all pissed off about something—Jesus, what
else is new?—and it couldn't possibly be the way that I deliberately left sown false information, so as in order to create a reactionary effect that serves my purposes... I mean, that just seems like some next-level tactical and serious strategery-shit that a drooling, mouth-breathing retard like myself just simply shouldn't be capable of masterminding into the battlespace at any significantly impactful level.
So, it must be just coincidence that your plans are falling apart, and you're simply incredibly unlucky—but certainly not unskilled—at taking advantage of a single individual with no known allies at all, even with your vastly superior access to resources, reconnaissance, and moral authority (go bears). How could all of your plans—of which I know literally nothing of, other than the obviously central involvement of the notion to take my cotton candy away and leave me in tears crouched in a cardboard box on the sidewalk—be falling so terrifically short of the mark?
It's not enough just to take everything I've got, I've got to be
sad about it too, right? Well, the jokes on you: this is the happiest and most popular I've ever been. This even beats Chess Club. I'm so sexy, I don't even need to have sex. I'm too sexy for sex! I've rolled the whole scoreboard over! I've pegged the needle! I'm not addicted to the shit that you are a slave to! Haha, neener neener neener, now go commit insurance fraud with your sponsor, chop-chop. Oh, you're back already to let me how well it went. Huzzah.
So, thanks. When you pull me out of the tent, do you want to lose an eyeball first, or a testicle? You can pick now or later, feel free... but I'm not going to lie, it's probably going to end up being a surprise to us both which gets popped out first.
I find it hard to believe that this is legit how a modern-day gang of thuggy little piggies would operate, so I'm going to assume this is all some kind of shadowplay meant to distract me from whatever is really going on, but once again, the joke is on you: I've been waiting for someone to come in here and stab me in the chest with a butcher knife to put me out of my misery
for months. Even hemlock doesn't take this long. Present a
real existential threat, Loser.
What are you waiting for—Christmas? Son, I think you've got a
condition, and it's called
obsession. Your mother should really call the police and get a wellness check on you. Y’all are really not firing on all cylinders—like my car.
I don't know what else to tell you—you and your ilk never had any reason to attack me, and yet you did. Predictable outcomes have resulted and developments will continue to unfold in unforseeable permutations and unexpected combinations of heretofore unconnected forces that will simply destroy themselves on their way to collapsing at my very feet, because that is the manner of The Divine at work:
Through a kaleidoscope obliquely, leaving shards of shattered glass in its
wake. Consider eYe prison protection, you snooty oinking goblin. Jackstar
cares.
