Guess what?  If I'm going down, I'm taking as many bastards as I can with me.

Oh and do me a favor:  When I'm dead and a bunch of lying hypocritical bastards start spouting a bunch of bullshit prose on how they'll miss me; please, call them out on it, "In rememberance of Brooke, I hope you get genital warts on your lips."

Insurance has denied my request for a revision.  Funny enough they stated in their letter that they felt the Biliopancreatic Diversion with Duodenal Switch would be much safer than a one hour operation bypassing more intestines.

Actually this letter came two days ago and I was the last one to find out.  This would explain why Mother was cranky and strung out on Ativan last night.

‘Cept for the cool gals who hang out here.

Seriously, if they’re not bored middle-aged housewives who now regret marrying and popping out kids at such an early age then it’s raging fanatics from the Bible Belt.  And don’t forget your average, ordinary, common everyday idiot.  

The trouble with the Internet is the ease of disguise; you could say anything and the person on the other side of the blinking dot usually automatically assumes you’re being truthful.  You can be a downright hypocritical lying bastard and it doesn’t matter because you’re here, and they’re all the way over there.

I just can’t be or pretend to be somebody else.  I can’t pretend to be nice to a person when I don’t give a damn about them.  I can’t lie and go along with a person when I know they’re a complete imbecile and unimaginably wrong.  I can’t go along with the throngs of admiring masses without question; why do we like this person again?  I also can’t sit still while some nitwit goes around bullying and spouting bullshit just to compensate for their looming insignificance and innumerable insecurities.  

I could respect these people if they were honest about it, but as it is…