“I wish I could like, I don’t know, burn his blog down, or something. LOL”
“Hahahaha. Oh go on, write a blog with that title. X”
“Hahaha! Yeah, that whole thing as a title lol”
“Yeah, the whole thing, lol”
I’ve been a blogger under various variations of my name, as well as a few pseudonyms for like, ten plus years. And even though I know ghosts will find me, being that I have chosen this eternal internet life, I am still annoyed when these cockroaches and douche bags make attempts to rekindle relationships that I wish had never been in the first fucking place. That being said, I will almost always choose to be polite, because I’m working on a better version of me; one who doesn’t chew bologna smelling fatty heads off at the base of the spine. Rather, I write vague prose and poems about them for my own amusement, and for those in the know.
I understand that it is a mean-spirited, juvenile thing to say–wishing I could destroy someone’s creative outlet with a beautiful, raging fire. Some people are dirty, dirty cockroaches and/or useless douche bags (douche really is useless, and has the potential to be harmful, actually; and anyway, vaginas are self-cleaning, so douche is redundant), but I am not justified in my desire for their grief. Yes, grief, because listen, if some twat waffle were to come along and set my blog on fire, I’d be moaning like a hired fucking funeral mourner.
That’s all I got, folks.