Immaturity and Hatefulness, by Me.

Behind the steering wheel you wait like a fat little spider, it’s all about the timing. Soon enough the lights will change and then, only then will you yell at the protesters, “Get a job!” You will do this forgetting you are driving the clearly marked vehicle of your employer. I will call your employer to inform him of your brain death and I will get a job. Your job. I will wear your fluoro vest like a scalp.

You lazy tabloid scanning piece of shit. You 3AW listening-to bullshit sponge. You
reactionary regurgitator of the lies people you hate put in your infrequently used brain. People you hate, people who hate you, people invested in you never growing a clue in the weed-choked garden of your mind. Your are a bit of a sad cunt, I’m told I should not give you my “energy” because that’s a “bad vibe”, but I don’t buy it. I like hate.

I love you because you give my hate somewhere dead to go. You are a graveyard for the feelings I am addicted to and cherish. I look at you and see your funeral, pallbearers easily lowering a coffin filled only with what became your emptiness. You will never change and I love that. Our masters want us to hate each other and I love that too. I’m happy to oblige.

I hope your wife develops back problems is put on steroids and grows a dick.  

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