Last night I got drunk and told some guy that I hated him. Actually I told him I fucking hated him and would punch him in his fucking face if he kept talking.
I am not actually mean for saying this because:
1. Many times when he's speaking he doesn't seem to notice that people around him are contemplating feigning a psychotic episode in order to escape his boring. tasteless. repetitive conversation - which has been know to induce ACTUAL PSYCHOTIC EPISODES.
It was a public service announcement of sorts.
2. I was literally so drunk that I don't remember this interaction. That excuses everything.
Rock on.
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Roid rage much!? 8/ Kidding. If you don't remember it, it didn't happen. That might be my favorite life philosophy. Just throwing this one out there: if you ever told me you fucking hated me, I would swiftly pull out my shank and cut a bitch. Watch out now! :p
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