Dear santorum goblin who hacked my Xbox live account and took my money: Eat a dick.
I’m kind of assuming your intent was to purchase FIFA ‘12. This just reinforces my hatred for soccer and the inconveniences it has on my life. It’s a game for horse thieves, and I’m sick of people calling it “Footie” to my face. Don’t give a sport a pet name, weirdo. And don’t tell me I don’t "get it." I get it. I played soccer as a kid -- everyone did -- I just don’t give a shit. I hope you’re 15, and I hope your absentee father beats you every holiday season.
Dear Microsoft's investigation policy, which has locked me out of the Internet for "upwards 25 days": Eat two dicks. Now who's going to remind me that I'm a "santorum goblin" every three minutes if not Xbox Live?
Whenever I used to find myself in a situation where I was upset or frustrated with something(s), I would just eat a bunch of shitty food until I felt some semblance of calorically-induced normalcy. I no longer have this option, and having forgotten to eat dinner last night and instead sleeping for 12 hours, I’m kind of desperate for some sort of equalizing effect.
Weight: 281 (Again)
Dear scale: You’re a shitheel. You know it’s going to happen, it’s inevitable -- stop being an asshole and just show me 279.
I’ve got nothing else to say to you. I grind my heel into your stupid face daily and I’m going to wake up tomorrow and be below 280, and there is literally nothing you can do about it. Have fun living on my bathroom floor, motherfucker.
Seriously someone give me some food; I’m losing my shit.