I Hate You

I am writing this to let one mother fucker in particular know that I hate every sinew and length of nerve in his body.

In particular, I hate the way you are clinging to my life.

Because of my disgust for you, because of my contempt for the way you infect my brain with your image, I am almost completely compelled to end my relationships with a handful of people that make me guilty of knowing your name by association.

I remember being accused of wanting to spend my time with you because of luxury. Because of the house and the electronics and the seclusion. Well the simple god damned fact was that I enjoyed your company, I loved you, and I cared enough to exile myself in the fucking woods to be with a man with twice my experience and half my intelligence.

No matter how much I remind myself that you are milking every last sweet drop of my love for you from the people that I once introduced you to, the comic value doesn't quite destroy the voodoo doll I've got splayed in my brain for you.

My friends, my life, my teenage entourage, now have to be obliterated because you don't have the fucking balls to make friends born before the Power Rangers.

I could be the cold hard bitch I fashion myself to be in these situations, but at this point I am much more comfortable dropping a nuke on the memories and the people that helped shape the sensible person I am today. That debauchery, or fuckery, as I would rather call it, can't be taken back. The trips to Vegas, the joints, the cartons of Marlboro's, the downed bottles of schnapps, they aren't going anywhere.

It's simple. I just have to find a way to manipulate my brain into remembering the things you weren't there for. Vegas? You weren't there for that. Sleeping under the pool table in Tennessee, you weren't there for that one either. Orlando, Edisto, Boca, fucking Manhattan, I spared you all those memories too.

Today. Now. I raise my 50-foot-tall middle finger in a final "Fuck You!" to you and all those cock sucking bastards that want to suckle on your hand me down house, your hand me down life, and the dregs that I have left behind out of haste in what you would only wish to call a "home".

I am thankful for you and my old friends. You are the bricks in the foundation of failure. You drop outs, and pot-heads, and perverts, and dependents, and trust funded, closed minded, pieces of shit, help people like me get the fuck out of a one road, one horse town, and to towns on the Gulf of Mexico, where the women are pretty, the weather is pristine, and the life is more golden in one-week, than in one year of your nine to five, filthy, and perfectly ignorant, existence.

Take the friends, take the memories, take it all. I won't bother kicking you out twice. I'm creating a new life so I don't have to ask you again to get the fuck out of mine.

If I never see you again it will be much too soon.

On a side note, APA Style can lick my nuts.