This I meant to bring into my beloved Great State but a conscientious objection that screamed “attention whore, much?” popped outta nowhere like a lurking troll and redirected it here, to the trash can.
I don’t have the slightest idea where my sarcasm ends and where my stupidity begins anymore… that shit ever happen to you? Fuckin right it has- I can read you like a book. You’re sitting there with all these questions that you’ve never asked, only because you never gave a single fuck about the answers to any of em. And I’m gonna bring answers to the table.
An author’s dream come true. I am the motherfucker that given the slightest bit of an opportunity, will see more in your character, more in the gesture, more in the comment, more detail in the scenery than was ever there, or ever will be there again. Just one microscopic weak spot in your reality projection is all it takes and in less time than it takes a crackhead to rationalize snatching your purse (wallet) out of your shopping cart (back pocket) as you bend over to grab that bag 30 pound bag of Alpo… I have redefined you to the way you oughtta be.
Every time I get shitty with you, and you do not annihilate me despite probably being able to (lol, probably)… It wasn’t because you truly didn’t give a single fuck and forgot it entirely by the time you forgot even bumping into me eight minutes later. It was because you chose to spare me, having me fixed in your peepsights, elevation and windage dead on. You don’t really even know why… hell you just got done bitchslapping at least a half dozen other unfunny attention whores over the last day or two no different than I am. Yet you purposefully chose to allow me to slide, and for no fucking reason you could put a name to. But you felt in some way like you were more than you had been just a few minutes before.. You pushed pause on an easy kill, and maybe I was not entirely too ignorant to catch that, or maybe I was. More likely I had no fucking clue, but you did and it was enough. It was pity, or maybe something else, or neither that stayed your hand…. the small, undefined, and vague hope that this gesture might… just might one day take Sauron the Great smooth the fuck out.
WTF do they even call this shit? I mean there’s gotta be something a little more relevant than that old, tired ‘delusional’, right? Ain’t the new DSM-V on the magazine/bookshelves Walgreens?
You aren’t lulzy, or witty, or on topic, or sexy, on this end… You’re fucking fully murderous. But that’s only if you give me just the slightest opportunity. I’m so sick of reality I’m ready to teabag a laundry bag full of sun ripened dirty socks and guzzle that shit unsweetened, just to make everything taste a little bit better afterward