It's embarrassing to...watch...decently trained professionals, descend into caricatures of [themselves].
Pot meet kettle. Except, you're not a trained professional in
anything but sitting on your duff puffing on those gay electronic smoke machines and guzzling Bang. Even the
flower delivery job is something you deny ever doing. That means (if we are to assume you're capable of telling the truth) that you've literally never gotten grime under your fingernails from hard honest labour-- Rather you got that grit under there by digging what ended up being your own grave while thinking it was someone else's.
The amount of disdain you're expressing for me elsewhere on this board and in instant messaging is clearly misdirected, bottled up rage that was created by situations that had
nothing to do with me-- But I'm the only one who you feel brave enough to confront. Because you've underestimated me. Your fat fake "Indian" ex with the albino complexion and the cottage cheese ass and you have made such utter fools of yourselves across the internet. And that's not counting the situations in which I was present.
She
did let loose the notion that you have been jealous of my success ever since I've had some, and terrified of me ever having any before it even happened. But you can "travel through time," right?
*chuckle* You pair crack me up. Whatever happened to you sorry sacks of shit I don't answer for. Take responsibility for your life like adults for once.
It's funny, y'know, how the guys that decried the use of "prescription medications," turned out to be ... Meth heads!? Holy crow, what a shock! None of the behaviours you or the guy who you said was/wasn't the raper or the only woman you've ever managed to get to cohabitate with you were ever a result of
drug abuse ... Surely not! The difference between me and you cunts (well, there's a fuck-load of difference actually) is that I sought medical attention from a highly trained specialist, and followed her medication and talk therapy regimen to a T. In comparison, you bought street drugs with your dead parents' money - what a way to honour them, right? I'm sure they're looking down proud...
So. Before you pin all this teenage rage on my ass, perhaps get off the crystal meth, get your head straight, and get back to me. You wanted to flirt with illegal substances and worsen your mental state, not me. I went the opposite direction. Now you sit alone in the house that was left to you and film yourself talking to the air. And the people in your head. Or the people we can't see.
Yeah, sure. I'm the problem. You and your little buddy need to learn something about the real world. You guys slaughter the reputations of others mercilessly, and when anyone so much as shakes their head in polite disapproval, you lose your collective lunch. I don't know how all this street drug shit works. I've SOLD to people like you. Never used. So, you're the one who can sit with the ruined life of your own making. While I am happy, sober and fulfilled.
You bought a ticket to the ride, and now you want out? It doesn't work that way. Try asking the fairground manager to stop the rollercoaster ride in mid air and demand a refund. See how that works. Kinda like tryna scotch tape waves to the shore in a straight line.
GOD PAGED ME & SAID I'VE ALREADY GOT THE LIFE.
