i'm a narcissist. and if you can't love me for it...well, it really doesn't matter because i love myself...for...pretty much everything.
i'm a narcissist. and i don't read any of your blogs unless i'm at the brink of suicide, which is usually when i'm out of OJ and sweet potato fries and i need to distract myself with something petty and mildly entertaining ...like the audacity of other people's lives revised on xanga.
i'm a narcissist. and when i actually do read your blogs i stop reading after five sentences (tops) because you're either:
a) embellishing some sad portion of your day that didn't make you feel like an empty cavity (no, your new manicure and the fact that your cat shat all over the love couch is not worth writing about).
or
b) mustering up some sad attempt at satire by poking fun at pop culture...because that's such a difficult target. word of advice: you're still calling attention to the tireless trash thrust in our faces like unwanted, oversized cocks. yeah, your 'cock' may be miniscule in comparison to media penis, but its still fucking annoying. you're not interesting and you're not witty either. i don't care how many viewers you have under your belt. knock the cockiness off (thrust*thrust* yea, that pun was intended. intended to annoy the hell out of you. see how failed attempts at wit can scar?).
i'm a narcissist, an idiot for continuing to use this website, and apparently an asshole because i never read your blogs (except for hilaw. still enjoy her fiction).
