If I have ever been romantically interested in you, please feel free to call/text/IM/write/message/show up in front of my face, and tell me how happy you are with somebody else. We've got like, 4 down in the past day. So let's keep it going today.

It's all so ironic the things that you think, you preface them all with a nod and a wink. The clothes that you wear and the words that you speak; you're so fucking clever; you're tongue's in your cheek. You stand on the sidelines and shit on it all, never getting involved because you might take the fall. You're apathy hides the fact that you're scared, never expressing opinions or showing you care. The irony is that you totally suck. You can look down on me but I don't give a fuck. Because I hate assholes who hide behind fashion who live life devoid of emotion or passion. All style and no substance, you're flesh without bone, another footsoldier in an army of clones. So fuck your snide ways and your snotty asides, I fucking hate you and all of your kind.

And you are who you fuck, or so I am told. In this miserable city, where status is gold. I've seen shit-eating people who claw their way up, looking for the acceptance that they never got. And it's all about winning the meat market games. Among all the rejects, dropouts and fakes. Did everyone give you the attention you seek? Who's arm are you draped on this fucking week?

Trophy boys and trophy girls: Go fuck yourself, I hate your world. Fair-weather friends are keeping score.

Name dropper.
Name fucker.
You're a fucking whore.