I am lonely. I have not had a boyfriend in years, and if I do meet a guy that I like, he obviously does not like me. I mean, I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet, but I’m sure that he already abhors me. It’s the law of this crappy universe.
Whenever a guy I like walks towards me, I already walk away. C’mon, I know what he’s planning to do already. He’ll make fun of me. Better to forget him than be insulted again.
Before I give you my advice, let me get this off my chest:
I hate you.
Ok, now that that little bit of information is out of the way, I will start dispensing my advice.
You are absolutely right in thinking that all guys will make fun of you and your ugly mug. Who’d want you for a girlfriend? You are NOT cute. You’re ugly. You wear black. Your overly thick eyeliner runs. You have too much leather and metal stubs on your body, and I mean that in a non-BDSM way. You listen to crap like Simple Plan. You’re somebody people will steer clear away from.
What? I’m not helping? I’m just telling the truth. I’m not some effin’ advice columnist.
Oh, wait, I am one.
Never mind. I still hate you anyway. Next.
I have known this girl for quite some time now. We spend every moment together, and she is really special. I can’t help it; I’ve fallen in love with her!
And on the day I’ve planned to admit my feelings for her, I find out that she’s seeing somebody else.
A million scenarios ran through my head. Thoughts of how I could kill the guy, or to make him hurt so badly he’d wish he was never born. He’d cry out for his mom, and upon seeing how much of a wimp the guy is, the girl would run to me. And I’d dump her.
But DtH, I did something a only true emo would only do: I locked myself up in my room, and bawled my eyes out. For a week. Aren’t you proud of me?
But I’m still lonely. Can you help me find happiness?
Why the hell are you doing looking for happiness? You’d never know happiness even if it stripped naked in front of you while dancing the Macarena. And even if you do figure it out, you’re still emo. You’d cry and whimper like nothing else matters.
Do what you always do best: go to your room, cry like a girl, grab a knife from your kitchen, and post pictures of your slashed wrists on your emo-riffic blog.
And oh, you call yourself sensitive? You’re not. You’re a wimp.
There, there. Aren’t you feeling better already?
OMG m so leik emo 2day!!! u c, mAh eX-bOo cAmE 2 mAh houze 2 ask me bak, bt i leik turnd him dwn.
his leik, jOlogz kAyaH! pErO m sTil iN lUv wid hM nOh! i DuNnO y, bt he is so pogi… sobra! hE lUkZ jUz leik yAeL yUzOn! *kilig kilig kiliiiiiig*
s0 wEn he lEfT d hAuS, i cRyd. OMG i mis Him n0h!
pEw0 i kNw we cNt b. he s so leik kUriPoT aNd so B.O.! leik, hEllEr?! s0 i leik pLaYd mah c0ll3Cti0n f LiNkiN pArK n bAcKsTrEeT b0yZ CDs 2 mAkE d pAiN gO aWaY.
DtH rox f0r3vAh!
Are you from another planet? Because I think you’ve sent me a letter written in a language not recognizable by humans. I tried deciphering it, but my brain overloaded from the effort. So that I won’t get an aneurysm, I will simply shred your letter without reading it. You may come back to me when your English proficiency goes up to respectable levels. Go away.
I’m actually wondering when emos would find this series and start sending me hate mail.
But in the meantime, if you are feeling even a bit emo, you may send me your emo letters to noisynoisyman [at] gmail [dot] com, and I’d
PWN you give you advice right away.
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