Year-End Love
It’s almost the end of the year. I was thinking about doing a year end review about everything. But I decided against it, because I’m lazy as fuck. Plus, I got nothing to say. The truth is I can barely remember half of last month, let alone the other half of the year. I mean, I’ve been trying really hard to think about what I was doing back in March or April, and I can’t remember a goddamn thing. But I must have been doing something because I was tired, and bitching all the time about how tired I was. I must have been on some whirlwind bullshit, because I think that’s what the fuck I was moaning about. But I can’t remember. I can’t remember shit. So, that pretty much negates a year end review. You can’t do year end if you can’t remember the first end of the year.
So, what the fuck else do I have to write about before I get the fuck away from this computer for the holidays. Note: I’m not really going anywhere, or visiting anybody special for the holidays. I’ll be stuck here, all by myself. Boo-hooo. No Christmas for me. No Christmas bonus. No ipod from the boss. No cool book from a secret Santa. No new book out to peddle. No new money. No cool fuckin’ Christmas presents. No nothing.
So, STOP FUCKIN’ TELLIN’ ME ABOUT ALL THE COOL SHIT YOU’VE ALREADY GOTTEN FOR CHRISTMAS!!!
Cause I ain’t getting shit. I don’t wanna hear it, or read it, or anything. Everybody all happy and shit. Fuck you happy bastards. I HATE YOU!!! Well, no I don’t, at least not all the way. Just a little bit. I hate you all just a little bit. Beyotches with new books, making money, contemplating their new fuckin’ lives. Yeah. I know I’m supposed to be happy for you all and shit like that. It’s not about the presents, it’s about Jesus. Yeah. Shut the fuck up, beyotch, because it is about the presents. It’s always been about the presents. Those three wise dudes didn’t come empty handed, did they? Nope, you asshole. They came with gifts, crappy gifts, but gifts nonetheless. So, don’t pull that Christ day bullshit on me. If you ain’t getting shit this year, like me, then Christmas ain’t nothing but a beyotch. BEYOTCH, I SAY!
Oh! If I could just piss on you all through these Internets and shit, I would. I’d piss on you, you fuckin’ rich ass Paris Hilton whores. You make me sick. SICK! ARGGH! You’ll rue (I think that’s the right word) the day you flaunted your new big breasted whores in front of me. I’ll make you all pay for my continued misfortunes.
So,
Merry FUCKIN’ Christmas,
Assholes,
I hate you.
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