This bitch and that bitch.

This bitch and that bitch are not allowed to be friends. This bitch and that bitch must forever stay apart. They will fuck each other or worse become friends. And then they won't pay attention to me anymore.

And that shit simply cannot happen. Meeting through me and then leaving me in the dust will not happen if I can help it. Oh no.

I mean it, bitches. I totally fucking mean it.

No, I get it. You're busting my nuts over a metrics report that you are not trained to interpret.

"No, Legs. This column. On the left. See? 77%."

"Yes. But that column does not apply to my specific performance. It describes the progression of the ENTIRE GROUP from the start of the implementation. I'm over here on the right. 97.43%."

"Well. Why would this column be on here if it didn't have anything to do with you? You are a part of the group, right?"

"Yes. I am. And if you add some other people's 65%'s and 81%'s to my 97.43%, you will most likely find a number that comes out around 77%."

"I'm not going to sit here and add and divide, Legs. That's not what this company pays me to do."

Of course it is not, thinks Legs. It doesn't take a guy with, IDK A MASTER'S DEGREE, to figure this one out. The company pays your short little ass to harass the employees who do a good job and behave and show up and as a result can't be fired. You are employed to induce those employees to quit eventually so that the firm will not have to pay their pensions.

Don't worry. I completely know what your job entails. They pay you to bully people. And what a lovely job you have. And oh, that girl you're fucking now that you're both managers?
Wanna see pictures of her? I have some on my phone. One is of her belly. I think you'd like it.
It's covered in something thick and milky and smells kind of like Clorox sometimes.

How can you call me after all this time and act like everything is cool?

We were totally dysfunctional. Right? I mean, the police were at our door more than a couple of times. Right? And then there was the drugs and the drinking and the cheating. And the lies.

Back when we first got together I was messing with other girls whenever I felt like it, I'll admit that. But then later I stopped doing it because I was feeling all guilty and thought I loved you. Or maybe I did love you. I can't remember. I know that I for sure do not right now. That I promise you.

I don't know, I guess I'm a hypocrite but it really hurt my feelings when you started fucking my friend. Also that you kept the $2000 bed I bought and now my former friend sleeps in that bed with you in the house we used to live in.

So like it was really weird that you called me last night. How you laughed about something and said, "Oh, I guess we're both just crazy, right?"

I kind of laughed back, but here is what I really wanted to say:

Back in the day during college. Do you remember that girl named Arnette? The one you said wouldn't look you in the eye? Like five foot nuthin with blue eyes and sandy hair. Glasses. Super smart. Bangin body.

Her and I fucked like every day all summer term. You were at our house and she lived with her dude so we had to do it in public. On campus. In the stacks. Empty conference rooms. Unlocked lecture halls. Up against the wall in the student center.

Actually, the time we did it up against the wall was the first time. Her back was to the wall and when I leaned in for the first kiss she immediately put her hands into my shorts and started playing with my dick. This was like at 11 am. Right out in the open. I knew she was game.

Anyway. So that's why that girl wouldn't look at you. Sorry it took me so long to confirm your observation. Please don't call me any more.

Kenna Lolly is my new manager.

You were horrible when we had the same job, Kenna. But you're a girl, a slutty girl, and we all know where that gets someone in a corporation these days. I'm not trying to hate because you're hot and we had our thing, but holy fucking Christ, I can't believe you're fucking around with Dave Darmont. And at work even.

Maybe you think I'm stupid but when his office is completely dark and both of you are in there what am I supposed to think? Other people see, too. You should watch out for Karen. That religious cunt is out to get you. Actually, she's out to get everyone.

Part of me like hates you because you do a terrible job at work but keep getting promoted. Another part of me remembers how much fun I used to have with you. I guess maybe I miss you. Your short little body naked on top of me.

And me with a serious other at home. How dirty was that? She found out later, you know. I told my friend and I guess he told her when they started fucking.

But it doesn't matter. You were way better.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that is not fair that you fucked your way into a hundred g's a year plus all of that stock and I'm still not answering my home phone because of all the bill collectors. I was in the top five percent of our firm last year. Worldwide. You weren't even ranked.

Nothing is ever fair is it? Oppositely, I never had to suck any dicks up in this bitch. I guess you can't say that can you?

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Oh, yeah. I forgot.

Baby, remember that Korean girl you thought was my friend? Fucked her like twenty times. Same for the girl from Spanish class and a lot of the girls we hung-out with. Actually, the list goes on and on. It was because you suck in bed. I hope you're practicing a lot on your new boyfriend. I wouldn't want the same thing to happen again.

This is my second New Year's Eve without you in my life you fucking cunt.

And for the second year in a row I don't have to worry about you cussing at the wrong time in front of the wrong people or laughing the loudest or using was instead of were or telling your embarrassing ghetto stories to anyone who will listen while I stand next to you. You make me cringe. Did I ever tell you that? I mean, did you ever stop to think that the holidays are NOT the time to tell everyone about your health problems and how rough you had it growing up?

Lots of good things going on over here in Benedictland. For example, this year I don't have to worry about getting totally obliterated at the New Year's Eve party just so I can fuck you later. And I don't have to worry about running around to find enough drugs to get me high enough to put aside the revulsion I feel every time I look at you. Every time I smell your breath that you won't go to a dentist and get taken care of.

My family told me not to get with you when we first met. My friend Jason made a face I will never forget when I first told him about you and me. I should've known. Your stupid trade school degree and sleeping in your car. What the fuck was I thinking?

You're going nowhere. The thing is you're too Jerry Springer to even know it. I thought, I don't know what I thought. Now we have all this debt together. I'll never be rid of you and it sucks. I never have to fuck you again, though. Or act like you're cool around way cooler girls.

I guess that makes me feel somewhat better.

So, my dear. Keep smoking your cigarettes in your redneck rental house. Wreck your shitty car over and over like you always do. Cry. Get people to feel sorry for you. And stick your twat around your sycophant, unemployed (like you), boyfriend's cock. I hope it's big and meaty and smells like lack of showers.

I hope you choke on it and die at midnight with a bunch of people watching.

I hope I hope I hope.