Satan Called and Your Ice Water Is Ready

So much to blog about, so much apathy. Today, I present a few things you kids should keep in the background of your minds at all times. It'll help, really.

Top 5 Signs I Think You Should Go to Hell
5) I've actually told you to go to hell.
4) I've called you a myriad of names in trying to get you to stop doing whatever it is you're doing that's pissing me off. Among those are: asshole and douchebag.
3) I then specified that "douchebag" meant "a bag of douche from the cunt of a cheap French hooker."
2) You refuse to apologize for continuously calling me a whore for a period of about an hour or so.
1) I've started to work out the logistics of how to "accidentally" hit you with at least one of the following: car, house, tree, tire iron, my foot to your crotch.

I know, I know - you guys think I'm being passive-agressive, but I'm not. I actually said all of this stuff, and now, because I'm still so lividly angry I could probably spit acid, I've decided to take it out on the Internet, at least until I get an apology that shouldn't be so goddamned hard to get when the other person is so blatantly wrong. Look, I'll make it easy. Just copy this:

I'm sorry that I kept insinuating you would take money for sex, even though you repeatedly asked me to stop, because my fucked-up sense of humor combined with the alcohol I will inevitably blame this on made me think this was a good idea.

And, no, I don't think I'm overreacting, and the next time your friend calls you a whore, feel free to rant and rave on your own blog.

And while I'm on the subject, I hardly think that wearing an outfit that leaves not even a smidgen of skin showing constitutes dressing like a hooker. So thanks for your unnecessary input that nobody asked for, but I will wear whatever I please, and everyone who thinks it's somehow within their right to criticize my attire can find a way to fit themselves into one of the five aforementioned categories.

I feel better already.