Dear Evil Bitch,
I do not like you. I think you are a bitter, nasty, mean girl and I don’t know why. You aren’t ugly enough to be so bitter, and you aren’t pretty enough to be such a bitch. You are absolutely average in every sense of the word, and perhaps you know that. Maybe you used to be really extraordinary and this little attitude is a result of nature gently tapping you with the ugly stick a few times as you got older. I don’t know if it’s because that dimple on your thigh is starting to resemble a literal crater, as you’ve gained plenty of weight since we first met (you’re welcome, I wished that on you). But you ended up really sucking.
Maybe it’s because you are very possessive of your boyfriend. While he is better-looking than you are, no one is trying to fuck him. I promise. Least of all me. He’s not that interesting, and he’s not that rich. (Plus, I’ve only ever home-wrecked one girl in my entire life, to my knowledge, and the circumstances were very specific. I’d had a long history with him, he’d told me they’d broken up, it was only one time – I guess technically two because it was two nights, but they were in a row so it felt like one collective time – and I went to confession and said like five Hail Marys afterwards so I’ve repented.) And while I would love to make you mad, I would love even more to give you no legitimate reason to hate me, so that you know as well as I do, that all of your anger and shit-talking is born from nothing but pure jealousy since I’m incredible, and you’re nothing but an angry girl with big tits.
So let’s just cut the shit. I forfeit. I don’t want to fight with you any more. In fact, I never did. The only reason I even hate you is because you hate me. And also because you have no soul, but I only noticed that you had no soul, because you hate me and I’m a victim of your demonic witchcraft and/or shrill voice and dirty looks ALL the fucking time. I’m tired of your attitude, I’m tired of getting mad at you, and I’m tired of the little displays you put on because, I don’t know, you think it would be fun to try to take me down or something. I hope you have some sort of goal you accomplish every single time you run your mouth about my life, call me to standards, or cause some other kind of scene otherwise you’re doing just about the most classless things I can think of for no reason at all. You’re dedicating all of this time and energy to a person who ran to the end of a rainbow, found a pot of endless fucks, and will never ever give one of them to you. Maybe this letter counts. Ok, you can have this one fuck, but that’s it. We don’t have to be friends. In fact, I’d really prefer not to because I think you’re genuinely a bad person, right down to the core. But I’m done with the passive aggressive bullshit. It’s not really my thing. If we have a problem, we can either talk about it like grown-ups, or ignore it like senators’ wives, but we’re not doing this anymore.
The bottom line is…you don’t know me, not really. Because if you did, you’d realize I was awesome. And if you don’t care to, then that’s on you. You can go on hating me for the boyfriend I never stole, the nights I never ruined, the embarrassment I never caused you, and the shit I never talked…but it won’t make you feel any better about you, and it won’t make me feel any worse about me.
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