Originally Posted: 2004-08-21 2:35pm
You FUCKS at 24 Glenville Number 2
You are all swine. You vulgar little maggots. Don't you know that you are pathetic? You worthless bags of filth. You are a canker. A sore that won't go away in the building.
You are fiends and a cowards, and you all have bad breath. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you. You are a bloody nardless twits protohominid chromosomally aberrant caricatures of coprophagic cloacal parasitic pond scum and I wish you would go away.
You are putrescence mass, a walking vomit. You are spineless little worms deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are jerks, cads, weasels. Your lives are a monument to stupidity. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suckk on a sour lemon.
You are a bunch of bleating fools, curdled staggering mutant dwarves smeared richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying your alleged birth into this world. Insensate, blinking calves, meaningful to nobody, abandoned by the puke-drooling, giggling beasts who sired you and then killed themselves in recognition of what they had done.
I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. I barf at the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut. Lepers avoid you. You are vile,worthless, less than nothing. You are a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. And did I mention you smell?
You snail-skulled little rabbits. Would that a hawk pick you up, drive its beak into your brain, and upon finding it rancid set you loose to fly briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of your ignoble blood. May you choke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of your own trite, foolish beliefs.
You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid, nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You are fools, asshats. Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won't have sex with you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot.
And what meaning do you expect your delusionally self-important joke of an existence to have with us? What fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your tiny-fisted tantrums would have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake?
You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you puerile one-handed slack-jawed foaming meatslappers.
On a good day you're half-wits. You remind me of drool. You are deficient in all that lends character. You have the personalities of wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted. You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go.
I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid so stupid that it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Stupid collapsed on itself so far that even the neutrons have collapsed. Stupid gotten so dense that no intellect can escape. Singularity stupid. Blazing hot mid-day sun on Mercury stupid. You emit more stupid in one second than our entire galaxy emits in a year. Quasar stupid. Your music has to be a joke. Nothing in our universe can really be this stupid. Perhaps this is some primordial fragment from the original big bang of stupid. Some pure essence of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the laws of physics that we know. I'm sorry. I can't go on. This is an epiphany of stupid for me.
The only thing worse than your music is your manners. Do you really think anyone wants to hear the shit you faggy emo hippie fucktards listen to? It takes every ounce of my self control not to punch you in your greasy mullet haired faces every time I pass you on the street. Your attempt at constructing a creative flame was pitiful. I mean, really, stringing together a bunch of bad synth playing among a load of gituar babbling was hardly effective... Maybe later in life, after you have learned to read, write, compose, and play a real instrument, you will have more success. True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal" people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering. But we sometimes forget that there are "challenged" persons in this world who find these things more difficult. If I had known, that this was your case then I would have never moved in. It just wouldn't have been "right". Sort of like parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a demand on you.
P.S. I pee on your door. Yes, even on the doorknob.
this is in or around Allston