Party like it’s 1989
It’s yet another “woke up screaming, realized it wasn’t a dream, and kept on screaming” kind of day.
God didn’t put me on this earth to be miserable. And yet, everyone who meant anything to me is either with Him or too far away for me to hug.
But there are plenty of assholes still mouth-breathing their way through this earth. I saw this firsthand yesterday when a particularly loathsome twat from high school showed up in my list of friend suggestions on Facebook.
Now, I’m grateful for Facebook for putting me in touch with all the “good” people — the ones I liked and respected and even found that I missed. I’m glad to see how they turned out, and I wish them all the happiness in the world.
Then I see a rotting twat like (name removed) showing up with a husband and kids and, basically, she didn’t die in a crack den like she SO rightfully deserved, and I ask the universe, “Where is the justice?”
I mean, how can this miserable asshole, who is responsible for years of torture on my part, be allowed to have a good life? Meanwhile I work my ass off, everyone I love is gone and I’m struggling just to pay the bills right now. Fuck that. Fuck HER.
I know I can’t judge whether she’s happy. But the fact that some pimp didn’t smack her into 2012 irks me. That she looks normal and happy and that life has treated her well. Nuh uh. Forget that shit. She doesn’t deserve it.
I know we all do things in life we regret, and maybe she regrets the things she did to me. I doubt she has enough brain cells in her widdle noggin to achieve that sort of realization, though. I vaguely remember the boys thinking she was pretty. I remember her grating voice, her very loud mouth, and the ugly, ugly facial expressions on her puss as she was being such a royal cunt that I couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to see/hear her when they could put their face into a meat grinder for a more pleasant experience.
It’s the people like her who made me so driven to get the fuck out of where I grew up. I might be miserable most of the time now, but so many people tell me I’m living the life they wanted, so maybe all is not lost after all.
But what I wouldn’t trade for a husband, maybe a kid, a little freelance job to keep me busy during Junior’s naptimes, and the weight of the world to come off of me already.
I’m sure Rotten Twat’s dumb ass can’t form a thought, let alone have the stamina to live my life. I don’t want to be her .. ugly from the inside-out. And even though an apology would mean nothing to me from the likes of her, I’m just looking toward the universe to wonder why the hurt and disappointment avalanche is always barreling toward me while others who DO NOT DESERVE SHIT seem to be ambling along OK.
Anyway.
She had a partner in crime of course. By the fact that THAT twat nozzle hasn’t surfaced anywhere keeps my dream alive that she became the crack ho she was destined to be.
And don’t get me started on the cunt whose future hopefully involved a mental institution.
God, it’s funny how far you can go in life, and how one ugly face can unleash a repressed flood of memories. I never cared what this miserable wretch thought or said about me, or even why she did the things she did to me. I wasn’t looking to live down to her standards.
But when all was said and done, I guess I thought my suffering would end at some point, and the happiness would eventually start. I mean, really, haven’t I been through enough?