“Hi You Little Shithead…
1. How long will it take for you to figure out which friend sold you out
2. How quickly you will regret ever fucking with my car
I now know without even the slightest tinge of doubt which one of the little punks he is; how can I say this with such certainty, you wonder?…
It was like a little pick-me-up from one of the Gods or something: on Friday morning the kicker happened that added to my already strong suspicions of the culprit; and it came the sugary form good ol’ fashioned betrayal. The mother of a friend belonging to the little fuckhead who continues to mess with car (and anything in it, if he catches me slippin’ with my windows down) stopped by asking for some pomegranates at random; her teenager son in tow to carry whatever score she might leave with. During our backyard excursion, he totally gave up his best friend since second grade as being the ONE who is guilty of the ongoing blood-feud saga between the owner of the silver Passat and his buddy (likely thinking the car belonged to the neighbor of whom his mother and I were exchanging 12-point-turn horror stories about).
Now, these little scabs have always the audacity to knock on my door every year at Halloween with a huge group of the local mosh-pit/dropout/stoner/skateboarders in tow, despite their never-decreasing ages – and they are smart-asses and talk shit to me if I happen to answer the door, opposed to one of my male roommates opening it…me being me, of course, has NEVER made the situation any easier or left a even semi-palatable taste in any of their teenage dirt-bag mouths, no doubt.
“Wow, there’s a full-blown mob of you guys out there…how many of you are there?”
“Uhhhhh…we don’t know…heheheheheh…..”
None of yous can count that high can you…?”
I mean, they are just a bunch of kids – especially late blooming kids, apparently…but the absolute silence that followed their obnoxious sized group from my doorway and down the drive into the darkness last night – was unprecedented. 🙂
Yes. Your PTSD has officially destroyed you and left your “Life” in shambles. Everyone with whom you have had even the most casual of interaction with anytime within the passed few years thinks you’re either:
Extraordinarily functioning for an insane person;
A kidnapper who has somehow managed to hold your roommate for ransom while waiting on payment for him all these years;
or just flat-out pathetic.
Yes. You have at last worn your current wetsuit for the last time – stop being so damned cheap…(?)
Yes. That sensation you have been experiencing whenever your mind touches upon the Opportunist is DISGUST, I am almost decidedly certain of this.
No. Your feet do not shrink as you get older. No, and that’s the dumbest thing anyone has ever told you and expected you to believe – find that person and put your (not shrinking with age) foot up an ass for such nonsense.
there’s something really “off” about “boneless” chicken…the very label BONELESS CHICKEN itself implies some sort of nightmarish science experiment at Foster Farms, headed up by MacGuyver, himself…bone in from now on, but you knew that.