So how do you tasteless twats decorate your walls? Behind me hangs a tapestry worth more than your car with you in it. Don't lie or exaggerate, just sit there silently soaking in the finery behind and all around me, bitches. Now, the only crease on my stoic face is due to my long study hours in college while you were smoking cheap cigarettes and complaining to no one in particular because nobody gave a fuck about you then or now. I certainly don't, fuck you.
Do you have anything this fuckin' sick? Of course not, lame'os. If you want a masterpiece you see from a normal artist, wait until the 4th of any month to make your offer. I'll give you gimps the benefit of the doubt when the
"why" part crosses your tiny minds.
You suddenly feel uncomfortable now, unlike my furniture makes me and my presentable guests. You know you're fucking pathetic because the walls of that single-wide you "live" in loudly announces your fragility to the dirtbags who occasionally stop by for beer. Why do I bother with you freaks? Because I like squat-launching weak uneducated bisexual morons who need even
more demeaning descriptive adjectives than I can bother with at the moment...
SSS
- Come Sunday, Breakpoint will never post here again.
