The Ex-Factor

You know what I hate? Chicks. I hate chicks. I was just on myspace…which I should stay away from after a few beers and nothing else to do…and I just looked at the retarded fuckers I used to date. Seriously…They are tools. I mean, JB is married to a fat skank and Jer is married to a chick who, admittedly (from what I heard from his sister) got pregnant to trap him…I mean…good lord, people, I mean, I know I am a serious bitch…but I also know that I wouldn’t wear so much eyeliner that I looked like a raccoon, or trick you into marrying me…as I remember, I didn’t HAVE to do any of that (you already HAD my ring picked out), because I don’t wear eyeliner that makes me look like a raccoon (I don’t NEED to look like Tammy Faye). Or WANT to marry you…

But you know what DOES bother me? The fact that I would still be friends with both of their sorry asses if their stupid bitch wives weren’t so insecure. Honestly…At JB’s wedding, his wife accused me of trying to make the whole day be about me (because JB tried to put ice down my shirt and chased me down the street) after I worked the FUCKING GIFT TABLE because she FUCKING ASKED ME TO (and after she stole the song I wanted for MY wedding…when I still planned on marrying Jer)! If they were cute…or didn’t think that there were leaches in the OCEAN…I might not want to kick them…Then I would be like, “Okay, you found a cuter, more intelligent bitch…” But, no. They didn’t…and now I’ve lost people that I genuinely liked (and even loved…at one time).

At least I am still cuter…(and possibly more shallow…But I still have the GOOD friends, bitches. You can keep the retards. Eppernepperhart thinks you suck too.)