I’m not mad that you tell me I am a terrible writer who needs to proof read his shit. If there is one thing we can both agree on is that I am a bad person who makes terrible decisions, and most of the decisions effect the way I write. The reason I can’t get mad at you is because I have a feeling that it’s not just random people calling myself and the other writers out, but that I think you are just one guy sitting in your basement masturbating and reading college websites.

I feel like you get mad because we live the life you decided was morally bad. You know that scene in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas where that business man walks in on Hunter doing LSD in a men’s bathroom and there is that random hippie licking LSD off his shirt? Well your that business man who will never get to experience half the shit that makes life awesome. I understand that your angry. It’s okay, really it is. Your life is terrible.

But to just anonymously flame us is cowardly. If I was smart enough to get your IP address I would use it to get your home address and come to your house. I would then proceed to angrily yell anything I could think of at you. I’d call you out on your shitty decoration of your basement. I would hit on your mom until she was munching on my nuts and if you have a sister, well she’ll be coming to live with me now because I would make love to her every night. I really would do it to.

So to your, anonymous, who ever you are, create an account and write shit about me to my face. I’m really hung over from drinking for 18 straight hours yesterday (My Bearcats are going to the Orange Bowl even though I doubted them) and would love to exchange words with you. And I would also like to fuck your sister.

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