Fuck you, Wayne, for hitting on my wife. My hostility for you defies description (see #6)
Fuck you, My Wife, for making out with a guy you’d known for about a month.
Fuck you, Inigo, for blowing your last decent suicide plot & making a decision to never go there again. TubadDiva, consider yourself duly pitted on this score.
Fuck you, Inigo’s parents, for not using protection on one particular occasion.
Fuck you, George Bush, for drawing another breath.
Fuck you, Ray Davies, for always being right. And again, damn you!
Fuck you, Inigo, for choosing insanity over sedation.
Fuck you, Inigo’s boss, for not backing me up today. I won’t forget this.
Fuck you, Inigo’s dad, for dying before teaching me to stick up for myself
Fuck you, Inigo’s mom, for all you’ve done for me. You’re evil, you know that!
Fuck you, Inigo’s Brother, you manipulative psychopath.
Fuck you, God, I think you know why.
Fuck the number 13 just because I’m in a foul mood.
Fuck you, Inigo’s brain, for failing to perform according to manufacturer’s specifications. (See #12)
Fuck you, Inigo’s sister-in-law, for not keeping Mr. Cancer in check.
Inigo will now make the sound of ultimate suffering. The faint of heart should insert fingers into their ears at this point)
: sound of ultimate suffering :
Thank you for your patience. I appologize for the absence of venom and actual drooling promised by the thread title, but you should expect lameness of a lame person. Fuck you, dear reader, for expecting anything from me. I wish for a meteor(-ite: if it should happen to land on the ground afterward) to strike my head at this time. Owing to #12, I believe this will not happen and I shall be forced to endure. Wouldn’t it be great if terminal illnesses could be transferred to the hopelessly unhappy souls who would welcome the promise of limited days? (see #12)
I hope the opportunity to vent has afforded you at least a little bit of temporary relief. I also hope that you someday make it through the fog and stumble out on the other side (no, not that other side). I’m lost somewhere in there myself, and I know it’s a nasty place to be.
Inigo, my man, rave, drool, curse and vent all you like. Let it all out. But remember this: when people shit on you, it’s because there’s something wrong with them, not with you.
Take heart, Inigo. You’ve been into the tangled mass before, and emerged again to tell of your adventures, a better man for having learned more about those inner truths that so many fear to begin exploring. No reason to believe you won’t do the same again.
Best of luck, and, though we haven’t often corresponded in the past, my email is in my profile if you want to talk.
Inigo, you have to be safe. This torment will not last. Will yourself through it. Do whatever it takes to endure. Do you have a safe place to go? Someone to call?
I learned somewhere along the way to put myself on automatic and go to the hospital. I know that I am safe from myself there.
Are you seeing a psychologist or psychiatrist? You can do something about #7, which will help #14. Medicine to help is not the same as sedation. Trust me on that.
shush or I will take the drill to you!!! Gum scraping, bone slicing!!!
And then we’ll eat ice cream.
Or would you rather just have the ice cream, petal? It’s Valium-flavored.
Be well, and addy in profile Inigo dearheart. We all get dragged around the track at least once. Don’t wonder it now, but someday, you’ll be ready to get back up on that thur horsie.
Been reading Preacher too much lately.
Seriously - you’ve friends here, and elsewhere. Remember that. And I can me a mean m**fuc - shut yo mouth! - when people try things like #3. Been there, done that, got the scars. Geeze, they don’t even give you T-shirts any more.
You seem like a great guy. Holdy our head up proudly. Seems to me you did nothing wrong here, pigeon.
Thanks for the kindness everyone…but man, there shouldn’t be so much love in The Pit. I’m a litle pissed that nobody’s come in with a “Get Over It Ya Fehkin’ Whiner!” What’s this place coming too? Oh yeah:
Fuck you, Staight Dope hampster for eating the REAL message that this post is replacing. “Hampster Love” anyone?
Goddamn cry baby sissy. Get the holy fuck over yourself. Geez, you think you’re the only one with problems. I only had enough time to drink half a cup of tea this morning. You don’t see me opening a pit thread about it.
Unless you’ve passed out in the port-a-john. Inigo, remember that when you feel sooooooo low it usually means either better times are ahead (relative to your current times) or worse times are ahead (in which case you are over reacting today).
When I have a hang over I always think about how I will feel better in an hour. Maybe not a whole lot better, but better. And I will not drink that much again. This week. eh.
