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Sunday, March 4, 2012

Knock It Off, Tweakers

You are loud, crass and obviously dumb. You look like you haven't showered in months. There are two of you in that apartment, and I don't like either of you. I don't care how cordial you are to me. I refuse to like you. Why? Because you're fuck-ups of the worst kind. I'm all for making drugs legal. That's not my issue. It's your body, and if you're stupid enough to fill it with chemicals, that's your business. That doesn't mean I have to talk to you. In fact, I'm done talking to you. I'm now ready to explain you to the readers.

He reminds me of that guy in the Adam Sandler movie who can't remember that he introduced himself to you. Every time is see this guy, whether it's in the laundry room or by the parking area, he can't seem to remember that he met me. He insists over and over that we never met, and then he holds his hand up in that stupid downward swooping overhanded handshake that I only ever see coming from an idiot. He tried to help another neighbor with his car by telling him that aluminum foil was a great way to wrap a splice. This fucktard has children. Of course he does. You already expected that.