I'm one of those pathetic people who writes pathetic stories. Such people have a name, I think.
Who cares, right?
I love to read. A lot. More than I love to do that pathetic-story-writing stuff. And then I love to chat about what I read, whether I loved it or hated it. I'm all about the chat, baby.
Because, well, reading's no fun if ya' have no one to chat with about what you read. Whether to rant or to rave, I read to chat.
If it doesn't have romance in it, I don't wanna hear about it. Boo!
Dear Johanna Leah Smith,
I LOVE you.
Even if no one else does, I do. Why? Because I kind of have a thing for bitches. And you’re the ultimate bitch.
Your father is an asshole.
Your mother is cold bitch.
Your sister is a weakling.
And your husband is a boring dick—pun intended.
One thing that has been bugging me as I read your piteous story, though: WHY are you in love him? Like, seriously, him?
You couldn’t have fallen for someone with a bit more...spunk? Flame? Balls, even?
Why, oh, why did you ruin your life for such a boring old fart of a man? I’m sorry, but I just don’t get it.
You’re witty, you’re fun, you’re fiery, you have red hair for Christ's sake! You just have to click your shiny little heels and the world stops spinning. That’s what I see in you, Leah. Why did you let Mr. Blah take your shine away from you? Why did you let him out your flame?
I don’t see how you could’ve possibly think someone like him, and someone like you could’ve been happy together. It’s just ludicrous. I am just so pissed that you messed up your nice, spunky life for this douche. The guy who says, “burp her.” (I mean, really? A young, hot, every-girl-wants-me guy like that saying “burp her”? I bet Will Ryan would’ve made motherhood seem exciting by saying something cooler than “burp her”.)
Remember what Cammie told you about Mr. Blah and Olivia being like a hurricane and a tornado together whenever they are in the same room? I’m calling her out on her bullshit. That, Leah, was a lie!
I’ve been privy to their story, and believe me, Olivia and Mr. Blah belongs together, because they are both borrrrrring. You don’t belong in that mix, you little fire cracker you.
Remember when Mr. Blah said you didn’t know the real him because he’s been someone else with you? Well, Leah, you wouldn’t want to know the real him, because the real him is lammmmeee. The real him does dumb shit with Olivia like throw cake batter on her head. I know you, Leah, and you wouldn’t want that gunk in your hair! Me, either. I’d slap the ever-lovin’-shit out of a guy if he did that to me. (I wear weave, for shit’s sake!)
Trust me Leah, he’s not worth the fight, don’t throw away rest of your life for him.
You know what , I know the perfect guy for you. His name is Drew—Drew Evans. Lives in New York and works at his father’s investment banking firm. He’s currently drooling over some snarky twat name Kate—Katherine Brooks. But with your, prowess, Leah, you could have him eating out of the palm of your hand in no time, and have him saying buh-byyyye to that Kate biatch. Forget Grandpa Caleb. You and Drew would most definitely work!
Just say the word so we can start plotting to break up another relationship.
From Another Bitch
Well, aren’t you just one manipulative, heartbreaking, life-ruining, love-stealing, sorrow-inducing, amnesia-pretending, Olivia-pining son-of-a-streetside-bitch?
Caleb, I HATE YOU.
That is the beginning.
That is the end.
That is everything.
From A Growling, Teeth-Baring Bitch.