Well the time calls that I give yet another dumb bitch a piece of my mind. Hi Gina, this blog is about you. Now before I get too far into this, there are 2 Gina’s that will probably see this, one of you is safe. Strangely both Gina’s have an L that begins their last name, so I can’t use that. Instead, Pure Romance Gina, you can relax. Also, while you’re reading this, field test some toys. I’ll get all hot and feisty knowing that some hot chic is diddling herself to my blogs. *grunt*

To the tool: What more can I say about you? Really, besides the fact that you’re a lying, manipulating whore, I don’t know much about you. Oh wait, yes I do. Where should we start? How about where you pissed me off? Yeah, that’s a good place to begin.

Listen cunt, don’t call me out and accuse me of shit if you don’t have your facts straight. Hell, if you even had half a fucking truth to anything you spit, I’d be a little less compelled to chew you out. And I can’t remember, what was it that you said to me today? Oh no, don’t get up, I’ll find it.

man jake you need to keep your comments to yourself…..you lost all respect from me the night that you n dan called me n were sayin comments about me and my kid….grow the fuck up

Keep my comments to myself? I forgot that my witty touch of dry sarcasm was offending to you, especially when I said it without your presence, to someone who’s more than capable of standing up for herself. If I were to keep my comments to myself, I would expect you to keep out of everyone else’s business. If you really wanted to be a super hero, protecting everyone, I think you’d need a lot more than a fat ass and an unborn infant anchor.

NOW I have insulted your child. I lost all respect from you for something I never took part in. I don’t know your number, nor have I ever called with Daniel to comment about your love child. But seeing as how you have put me on the defensive, I really hope your bastard child turns out to be autistic, left-handed and gay. Not just curious gay, but flaming, costume wearing, parade marching gay.

You say I need to grow up, well this is me playing like a grown-up. I’ll fight fire with gasoline. I don’t like you, your attitude or your forefivehead(seriously, I could land Air Force 2 on your forehead it’s so large). You’re a stubborn, snot-nosed brat who has been spoiled for far too long and babied for even longer. You want me to grow up? Maybe take a gander at your own image, take a peek at how dire it is to straighten up your own life and immaturity. So is being a single mom-to-be everything you hoped it to be?

Now I know you’ll probably get a list of things to complain about here, starting with telling all your protective, disrespectful male friends that I’m a piece of shit and I deserve a beating. Well let me have you know that I’m the wrong person to fuck with. If I even think for a moment that I may be in some sort of danger, I will bust open more skulls than you can imagine. And don’t think that I can’t handle myself, because when it comes right down to it there hasn’t been a single man who’s attacked me with intent who hasn’t hit the ground in a manner that is descriptively detailed as sickening.

You’d better believe I’m serious about this too. I’ve struck friends in anger for far less. A perfect stranger would make it that much easier to annihilate.

Gina, you used to be a good kid. I don’t know where the apple went rotten, but it’s far beyond help. And seriously, how the fuck did you get knocked up anyway? I can’t understand how a flat-chested, fat-assed, bitch with the personality of treebark, could ever get a dick inside of her, let alone a load left. Congrats though, you’ve joined the millions of other dumb bitches who aren’t intelligent enough to prevent a pregnancy. Way to screw up your child even before it’s born.

So out of all the nasty things I say about people, I’m just not through with fulfilling requests to say more. My friends, being the chickenshits they are, do not posses the cojones to say the things they really want to say. So it’s a very common act for me to express their inner feelings, emotions, asshole-like exports, slanders, put-downs and so on.

Apparently my words flow like drunken piss down the new vinyl siding on your neighbor’s house. And once again I am inquired upon to animate chaos from the will of one of my peers. I’m here to cause the emotional damage that some lack the courage to do. And once again, the coward is Brandon! Hahahaha, you’re still my boy even though you have no balls, it’s cool, I’ve got your back.

Let’s begin, shall we?

Michelle, firstly I’d like to start by stating that you’re a cunt with a serious “look at me” attitude. I’ve never cared much for you, not even when you first moved in across the hall from us way back when, you were too important for the world and probably should have been aborted. I’m talking whiskey and coat hanger too, not that medical picket-line that embarrasses the patients. You’ve always been a straight up bitch to anyone and everyone, a lying, manipulating, whore who could use an abusive relationship just to put you in your place.

Anyways, the news I was breaking to you that was already mentioned once, is that Brandon is getting hitched. So sad, eh? And it’s not you! Ha, as if anyone could tolerate your shit long enough buy you a rock. Only rock a man should buy for you is the one that’d be used to beat the ugly out of your pig nose. But that’s besides the point. BD is happy, and it’s without you. Go figure. Then again, if he was ever happy with you it was because you weren’t in town, weren’t around to nag at him like a fucking gnat at a barbecue, pissing him and everyone around him the fuck off. Do us a favor and Raid yourself.

This is all shocking to you, I’m sure, but you deserve it. You treat people like peasants and they’ll turn it back on you eventually. Frankly you’re a piece of shit. Yes, I said it, you’re a piece of shit. I’m not talking a big-assed bear mounded pile of shit, no. I’m talking like the triple flush corn-log that you need to waste 15 minutes precision slicing with Q-Tip just so it’ll flush after you ruggedly quartered it.

I’m sure you’re going to cry about this when you read it, so I made sure that your loved ones got a link to the article as well, just to make sure they know what you’re dealing with and not filled with a jumble of bullshit lies about how you saw a kitten get run over. If that’s the case, I’m the driver…and it was on purpose. I never miss.

So take my advice, quit the attitude. You don’t need to take your fucking activist civil rights movement to a new level here, we don’t give a damn. Life isn’t a power struggle and you being in charge will not make you a better human, you obviously can’t control what you’re given anyways. Quit flipping out like a bull-dyke feminist preaching your political crusade against oppression, taking the huge stand off against the male sex because things aren’t going your way. Get over yourself and try to be a little more civil, the world isn’t against you, we just don’t like cunts.

So as I sit here this morning enjoying my over sized RedBull, the wings it gave me, my incomplete but tasty breakfast and some early morning Hi/Low Omaha poker, I come to realize that I am really annoyed at a scoff and hideous scowl I received from a person the other night. The more I think about it and the more I ponder on the situation, it increases my desire to shoryuken punch an amputee.

What I’m speaking of is a mouth-breathing troll who suffers from mommy issues and a serious lack of attention towards her spoiled needs. Paige, as we like to call her. The scoff I earlier mentioned was the outcome of her releasing anger towards a good friend of mine, Brandon. I, by association, am now an obvious dickheaded accomplice and deserve pudgy eye-daggers every time something doesn’t go her way.

In a way I probably deserve it a little, I did laugh like a prepubescent monkey when she discovered that Brandon was dating a girl even though she spent half a day stalking him, looking high and low to find any of our vehicles as we ignored her calls because we didn’t really want to deal with a whining tool. That’s the last thing we wanted on a sunny day while we visited the beach, listening to the sirens of the whambulance cycle the sandy coastline because nobody’s responding to “look at me” time.

Oh fucking well. Boo fucking hoo. He’s dating a woman who’s more attractive, less annoying and doesn’t smell like a truck stop. Have your mom pull the car around, playtime is over.

Just because every else babies you and complies with your every need does mean we want to join the cesspool and wade in the entrails of the stupid. Nobody gives two shits that you’re in a mood and want to be catered to. None of us want to sleep with you bad enough to even bend over for 10 seconds to please your needs. The want is there, but only to see if your titties hang as low as expected. After that, I’d need to go shopping for flour and a hose.

So we don’t want to sleep with you, nor listen to you, what’s left after that? Besides fucking yourself, I can’t think of much. The attention whoring is old, boring and useless. Until your shit starts smelling like strawberries and cream, shut your trap and bite your tongue. Hopefully you’ll find a man someday that won’t look at you like the rest with a cold, comatose stare whilst trying to avoid any enduring conversation at all with you. Although that’s not believable, we can still hope for your sake that someone will turn you from a cunt to a semi-tolerable bitch.

And for the record, breath when you laugh. Your cackle is a shriek of obnoxious melody, the way you would think of bagpipes as sexy. Eat shit and die, cuntrag.

P.S. Paige, if you ever kick me again, I’ll cut Sarah loose on you and make damned sure she breaks both your arms and 3 of your ribs. Have a great evening tons of fun.