Where is the regard?

 Did you hear what that guy said? 

He just said it again. He knows what he's doing when he says it, too. 

He does it every time. He comes in here, says what he says, does what he does, every god-damned time.

Unbelievable. 

He does it as if nobody in the room is even there. 

Regardless.  

He does it without even the slightest regard. 

Here's the thing: Regard matters. We all know that. 

But here he is yet again, doing it with absolutely no regard. He's willfully regardless. 

The thing is, if he only lacked regard, that would be one thing; but he doesn't even know what regard is. 

And that's where I draw the line.

That's the crux of the problem: an inexcusable lack of regard. Whenever regard's concerned, people should regard it. That's self-evident. We all understand this. 

So, like I said, that's the line. We all know when a guy's crossed it. A guy should know if he's crossed it. If he doesn't know, he's a retard. 

And, the thing is, I'd excuse a guy if he were just a retard, but this particular guy's no retard. He's an asshole.

And it's not like he just started doing this. Look at what else he's done. Look at what else he's said. He's been at this for a long time. He's perfected it. He's a professional jacksass. With him, there's always an angle. 

If that guy did me a favor, he'd expect a thank you. He'd do me the favor with the purpuse of extracting a 'thank you' from me. Like doing me a favor was the same as doing a favor to himself. He'd expect me to do him two favors in return. And the worst part of the whole thing is that I'd never hear the end of it. 

I'd rather the guy not have helped me at all. There, I said it. Fuck that guy and the horse he rode in on. 

Did I ever get a thank you? You know the answer to that. 

Did he ever thank me? You know he didn't. 

Does he even know what thankfulness that means?  You and I both know the answer.

But I don't like to be that way.

It's not entirely his fault that he's a asshole. 

I blame his mother. 

Western Sham

 

One of us will die first

 Will it me? 

 Will it be this trash jack, gigabit spittoon we call 'online?'

 It can't be me: I'm just a girl, little ol' me. Don't let me outta your sight.

 It can't be you: You're just a word that never meant much. You never had purchase, you could never look me in the eye.

 I can't beat you. 

 You could be me.

 We both lose. 

We all lose.

 I win if I die first. 

You lose if I die first.

I'll die first, even if you didn't suck so bad. 

I guess I win. I guess you lose. 

Sucks to suck. Good luck.  

 

 

 

 

 

Mathematical proof of how much I prefer pleasuring your mom over listening to your mom's stories about your childhood

Statement: 

My appreciation of your mom's memories of your childhood is the quotient derived from the dividend of the gap between your mom's thighs and the inverse divisor of the constant of proportionality.

X = the gap between your mom's thighs
Y = the joy I experience listening to your mom talk about your childhood
K = constant of proportionality

Start here: K=X/Y   

Find the joy.

 K=X/Y > K(Y)=X/Y(Y) therefore  K(Y)=X

K(Y)=X > K(Y)/K=X/K therefore Y=X/K

Solution:

This is an inverse proportiality. I like the gap between your mom's legs as much as I dislike your mom's stories about your childhood.

 Hugo S. Winterhalter.