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I Don’t Herp the Derp, But When I Do, I Herp…

1333726628573Sometimes, getting rid of people whose only real past-time is talking shit, really is the best thing to do. As I have said so many times, just because you’re blood, doesn’t make you family. You EARN that title. I suppose it bears mentioning that people will always talk, assholes will always judge, but the great don’t give too much of a shit, if they ever notice at all.

Meh. Whatever. I noticed, I guess I’m just good.

Lately, I’ve been using the “unfriend” button on Facebook like it was a free orgasm machine. Click it, feel good, as in “with a spot I damn him” Mark Antony style. (That’s right Shakespeare up in this mother fucker) I could go on a rampage and air a bunch of dirty laundry and talk shit right back. I don’t feel much like doing that though. Not only would it accomplish absolutely nothing, but it would hurt other people and I would really hate to do that. Especially when the people I would actually hurt, mean quite a bit to me.

Fuck it. How horrible is it when I don’t even give enough of a fuck about someone to verbally assault them? Last night I was raging a little bit, but then I remembered something…

…I’m the mother fucking Bane! I’ll let the beta males deal with this bullshit.

Good fucking riddance.

The difference between them and me? They judge me on my worst mistakes, and I judge them on their best behavior.

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