Good For Nothing 

I’ve taken enough shit from you today. Listening all morning to you verbally attack me with the same agonizing torment of a Monday morning hangover. You’re fucking lucky I’m heavily sedated and not paying close attention to almost anything you say, otherwise I might take offense to your condescending soliloquy of derogatory comments concerning my character. It always seems to be complaints about something I didn’t do, rather than what I might have done. These rants of unsubstantiated grievances only lend proof of your self-righteous demeanor. You haven’t told me anything I haven’t heard before. You’re just an echo of all the women I’ve known in the past that didn’t last.

If this is an attempt to cause me emotional pain, you’re shit out of luck. You’re heading the wrong way down a one way street. You can’t hurt my feelings. I used to hold the flashlight for my father.

I would however like to inform you that your statement of being ‘good for nothing’ is an invalid premise. I don’t profess to be knowledgeable in the field of philosophy, I’m more of a Barstool Philosopher at best. 

Understand, by declaring me to be good for nothing proves that even being good for nothing is actually being good for something. Hope you’re able to grasp the concept.

There’s one swallow of patience left in the bottle, a cold shoulder of icy give a shit in the syringe. I was hoping to end this malicious prosecution with some type of profound quote. Unfortunately, all I can think of saying at this moment is; “Shut the fuck up.”