Yeah, you know who you are? You are the whingey, whiny, insecure little bundle of flesh and fat that can’t do anything more imaginative than gripe about how shit you think your life is, like its not your fault. Fuck off, you miserable wanker. You walk around, sucking on lollypops or chewing a great wad of gum, looking more like a pathetic cow than a human being. Don’t you realise your incessant chewing and sucking is just because you were never weaned properly?
Another thing: if you wave your fat little fingers in my face again, I will break them. If you can’t make a point without resorting to sarcasm or the threat of violence, then shut the fuck up and don’t say anything. You’re the sort of person who would rather slap a child for doing something dangerous than explain why it is and what might happen. You’re the sort of person who would rather kick a defenceless animal out of your own sad frustrations than deal with it. You have a bloated, pus-filled opinion of yourself that gets worse by the day.
Don’t come round, don’t call, and don’t even bother trying to talk to me. You have nothing to say that I would be interested in hearing. You have tested me time and again and my levels of tolerance for your shit are now completely depleted. Just fuck right off.