May 22, 2004
I would love for you to show up on my doorstep so that I could spit in your face. We're over, you blithering, utter idiot. We've been over for a reeeeeallly long time. Stop trying to talk to me about Chris. I'll kill you. Stop trying to talk to Chris about me. Trust me, he WILL kill you without hesitation. What car are you driving? What girl are you fucking? I don't know, and I don't care to. She'll never be as good as I was. You know that, or, rather, you must, because otherwise you wouldn't even mention it.