I waited a few days to send this to you—I wasn’t sure if I should or not. But[,] yeah, I should.

MmmHmm [sic]. You little fucker.

I’m going to be brutally honest with you. I don’t give a flying fuck about your feelings anymore—I was stupid to care in the first place; you don’t deserve my caring. I didn’t want to hurt you because I knew you were already damaged by past relationships, blah blah blah. But I’m tired of you baiting me back into contact with you, and then doing something shitty to hurt me. You are a sick son of a bitch, and[,] THAT, my friend, is why all your relationships are dysfunctional and why you have NO fucking friends. It’s not because you choose to live that life, but because no one likes you, and it’s not hard to understand why that’s the case.

1) You’re not nearly as smart as you think you are. Go back to school. Learn something. Have a fucking intellectual conversation. Learn to have a meaningful conversation about something other than Woody Allen and Morbid Angel.

2) You’re not nearly as good of a writer as you think you are. There’s a reason why you get paid to write PORN REVIEWS, and why you have to SELF-PUBLISH, which, by the way, is the professional writer’s equivalent to castration. WE MAKE FUN OF PEOPLE WHO SELF-PUBLISH. Go fuck yourself. You may be proficient, but you sure as fuck aren’t talented. The only thing you can do is write semi-eloquent rants. There, I said it. Now go spend a shitload of money getting your crappy book printed. Hurrah.

3) You’re incredibly shitty in bed. You just lay (that’s past tense, by the way) on top of me and kind of squirmed around. What the hell did you want me to do with that, dude? And as for the blowjob—you know what, asshole? I WAS DRUNK. I was drunk and I didn’t feel like putting your flaccid dick in my mouth. YOU NEVER, NEVER, NEVER [sic] went down on me. You have no room to talk, asshole. And you know what? I wouldn’t have pressured you to if you didn’t feel like it. Shit, I tried to make our sex life good...what was it, “the best [you] ever had” ? Yeah. It was the fucking WORST I ever had. And I’m counting a guy I used to sleep with who had motherfucking Erectile Dysfunction [sic]. Also, this may break your heart, but you didn’t “give” me my orgasms—I gave them to myself. I told you, I can get myself off in under two minutes if I’m really pressed for time (and[,] believe me, with your limp mass of flesh flapping around on top of me, I was trying to get it over with ASAP.) [sic] I know what to do with my body in order to get off. I know what to think about to turn myself on, and it sure as fuck wasn’t you.

4) You’re unattractive. It’s your attitude AND your looks. Maybe you should stop insulting EVERY FUCKING PERSON AROUND YOU for a moment and take a look at yourself—you’re no goddamn supermodel. Quit expecting to be treated like one. And the way you CONSTANTLY insult the physical appearance of people you don’t even know doesn’t disguise that fact. I’m not going to go in depth here about your various physical shortcomings because I, like anyone, have a few of my own. But I don’t run around calling average-sized people fat, or attractive people brutal (by the way—your ex’s new boyfriend does NOT look like Dustin Diamond; he’s pretty hot, actually).

5) You’re a shitty partner, period. We break up, you post private shit about me on the internet [sic], publicly humiliating me, and then you get pissed because I didn’t send you a birthday card? What? You’re also a shitty friend. You’re probably even a shitty brother. Lord knows I wouldn’t want to be your sister, as I’ve been witness to some extremely shitty things you’ve said about them.

6) You suck, period. You prey on women who are at vulnerable points in their lives. Thats the only way you can get them. You’ve been lucky enough to have the opportunity to spend time with women who were WAY out of your league (there are at least two of us that I know of), and you fucking blew it with all of us because you are a fucking chode, and you can only hold up the charade of being a sweet, caring, funny guy for a few weeks before it all falls to shit and you get abusive. I can’t believe that, at this point in my life, I ended up in an abusive relationship—no matter how short lived. Yes, it was abuse. You threatened to “kick the shit out of” me. You threatened to kill yourself, and said it would be my fault. You threatened to punch me. You threw a chair (that was pretty funny, actually). You called me every name in the book, and screamed, through tears, that you wished I would have died of cancer. You wished I’d never been born. You thought it was funny that I’d been raped. I’m fat (I’m 123 [pounds], asshole). And on. And on. And on. And this was after the relationship was over. hen, when I stopped talking to you, you called my phone nonstop at work, threatened to show up in the places I frequent, and threatened to “fuck shit up for [me] at work.” Classy.

7) Quit hanging around with pimply-faced 19[-]year[-]old anorexic suburban tennyboppers [sic]. It’s pathetic, and the pictures of you and her together are downright disturbing. You’re almost 30. Sure[,] they’re impressed. Did you buy them beer? Can you impress someone your own age? Someone who’s NOT recovering from major emotional trauma (the death of a parent, the end of a meaningful relationship, a severe eating disorder which involves no food intake for upwards of 7 days—no wonder she found you appealing, she’s fucking delirious at this point)? Not in recent memory, huh? For a hint as to why that may be the case, see [numbers] 1-6.

In short, you’re a shitty person. Yeah, I believe that now. I’m admitting it to myself—I didn’t want to, because admitting the fact that you’re a fucking straight-up asshole meant that I had to admit to myself that I was taken in and tricked by a straight-up asshole, and that I was stupid enough to care about a straight-up asshole.