Thursday, November 16, 2006

A Letter We All Want to Write (1)

Dear ___________,

It has recently come to my attention that you are one of those nit-wad busy-body pseudo-psychologists out there that habitually project their personal psychosis, phobias, and paranoia onto the lives of others, all the while offering them advice on how to live. Well, fuckwad, here is some advice for you. I suggest you take it if you want to avoid my wrath. I fucking mean it. I am tired of you bothering me with your redundant psychotic bullshit. Stop treating everyone as if they are mirror images of yourself. If I lived in any manner or form that resembled your pathetic excuse for an existence, I would have done humanity a kindness and eaten a bullet long, long ago.

Do not ever again fucking come to me in a bad mood and ask me why I am not unconditionally happy. My refusal to live in the sort of phony, ignorant, stupefied bliss that has become your trademark expression is none of your fucking god-damn business. All you really want to know is from where I got the nerve to be in a different mood than your own. Either you seek my codependence or you desire to live vicariously through my moods to provide an escape from your own miserable non-ending life-drama. Obviously, you imagine your problems to be so catastrophic that no one else’s sadness could be of any importance by comparison. Maybe you really are fucked up way beyond what most of humanity could ever withstand. Either way, I don’t give a flying shit and if there were a god out there from which I could solicit a much needed favor, I would be begging it to make you disappear.

Not that you actually give a fuck, but the greatest issue I face at present is you. You have some kind of fucking audacity to come to me while loaded up on pharmaceutical mood-inhibitors and attempt a lengthy clinical diagnosis of my emotional state based upon how I react to your bullshit. You can take all that new-age-dime-store-pop-psychology shit you picked up from reruns of Dr.Phil, and shove it directly back up into that tightly clenched vice grip of a butthole you lug around behind you all day. The moment I see your chaotic existence resemble anything within the range of normal human behavior, I will then and only then remotely consider the possibility of wanting your opinion on anything.

Now fuck off. Whatever it is you have, I don’t want to catch it.

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