Yes you; the bitch who, upon seeing me standing outside my building with both arms full of groceries, waiting on my girlfriend to come let me in, slammed the door shut and said “I can’t let you in!”. I hope you drown in a bucket of AIDS blood.

Did it ever occur to you that most people don’t break into apartments/rape and pillage/murder people with a load of groceries?

OH JEBUS! YOU’VE DISCOVERED MY MASTER PLAN! I WAS GOING TO BREAK INTO THESE APARTMENTS AND STOCK THE FUCK OUT OF THEIR KITCHENS, WHETHER THEY LIKE IT OR NOT!

Did it ever occur to you that you could say, “How can you prove that you live here?”, and I could show you my ID with the address on it, or tell you which magazine is in the stand by the elevators at Pembroke, or ask me what the button for the roof is labeled, or any number of things to prove I live there?

It was a much better plan of action to say “I can’t let you in!” and hastily walk away, ignoring me, and continuing your likely vapid phone conversation. I know that you’re very engrossed in who your mother is blowing, but you could take the time to not be a complete bitch.

You will die alone. You clearly lack social skills, and likely have a long history of failed relationships. Your only hope for stability is to trick some poor fuck into miraculously planting his (likely flawed) seed in that barren desert you call a womb. I hope everything bad in this world happens to you, and only to you.

Cunt. Cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt. Cunty McCunterberry, Mayor of Cuntsville.

I look forward to the day I see you struggling to carry in your groceries, so I can slam the door in your face and scream, “CUNT!”.

P.S. – I’m sorry for calling you a “Fucking Bitch”, I meant to say “Horrible cunt”.

Love,

Sig