2002-04-20
10:19 p.m.

If my hate for you could be quantified such that each unit of hate weighed aproximately the same as a paperclip, then my hate for you would encompass enough paperclips to exert it's own gravitational pull. I HATE YOU SO MUCH IT AFFECTS THE FUCKING TIDES YOU MOTHER FUCKER.

It started out innocently enough. You took me to the Ronald Reagan film festival because you read he was my favorite movie star in my online personal profile. I thought you were so handsome. You were so dapper and preppy in your combat camo. A vision.

And that night you were so sweet when you calmed my fears. I was worried about my gimpy limp and the horrible scars from the fire. I was afraid you wouldn't want me. But you said to me, "it don't matter if you was a quadruple amputee with open gaping sores. As long as you're a bitch that swallows, you'll always be able to please a man."

I knew right then I loved you.

BUT YOU ABUSED MY LOVE, MY REAL LIVE LOVE FOR A MAN, NOT A WOMAN, A MAN SO BAD WHEN YOU DID WHAT YOU DID, LLAMA-FUCKER! AND NOW I FUCKING HATE YOU!

But I'm getting ahead of myself. We were an item from that point on. I was a mildly retarded, slightly deformed, runaway with a heart of gold. You were an ex-radical militant who had recently found himself militialess and looking for a fresh start. We were a matched set like Tom and Nicole, or Tom and Roseanne, or OJ and Nicole. Whatever. You know what I mean. It was love, and I know you know it was love because I felt your love and you felt my love so it was love MOTHER FUCKER. L-O-V-E, DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME? LOVE!

But then it all changed. I'll never forget it that night when we were sitting on the couch and you invited your friend Clay over. And Clay excused himself and you leaned over and you said, "hey baby? Listen, Clay just paid me fifty dollars to have sex with you, and I told him it was ok with me. So if you want to, we could sure use the money."

And I said, "Oh, I don't know. That doesn't seem right."

And you said, "Oh, baby. It's just Clay. You know him. It ain't no big thing. We'll use the money to buy you something pretty."

So I did it and pretty soon you were lining up dates for me every night and I was officially your bitch and you were my pimp. "There sure is a market for the cripple bitches," you used to say to me and then you would beat me 'cause you thoguht I was holding out on you.

BUT I ALWAYS GAVE YOU EVERYTHING I EARNED BECAUSE YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO TAKE CARE OF ME AND YOU SAID WE COULD SAVE UP FOR THE SURGERY TO CORRECT MY HARELIP AND I WANTED THAT MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD! BUT YOU NEVER GAVE ME THAT SURGERY, DID YOU, MOTEHR FUCKER. I NEVER GOT IT!

And then, one day I chose Clay and I said, "Bryan, I'm not your bitch anymore. I'm Clay's bitch now. I'm Clay's bitch." And the rules are that if I choose someone else, you're supposed to let me go, but you put up a fight for me. You threw chairs and broke glass and generally acted badly. NOT LIKE A FUCKING MAN! YOU ACTED LIKE A GODDAMN CHILD!

And when I tried to run away from you, you reached up and grabbed my dress and you ripped it! YOU RIPPED IT! That was my favorite fucking dress you anti-semite! I loved that dress more than I loved you, but only a little more! It was made of a cotton poly blend that was hypo alergenic and I ain't never had anything so soft touch my body in my whole life and you FUCKING RUINED IT! And then you said you'd faked your orgasms and you never loved me.

GODDAMN I HATE YOU SO MUCH AND YOU WERE A LOUSY PIMP. THE ONLY THING YOU WERE EVER GOOD FOR WAS USING THAT NINE INCH, DOUBLE-JOINTED TONGUE AND THAT'S ALL, WALRUS BREATH!

Oh, and I always knew you faked your orgasms, because your cum smelled of elmers glue and paint thinner. I always knew it. Oh, and you're a son of a bitch too. How do you like them apples?

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