This little Bitch, Marla Singer!

The weak gets weaker, and the strong, well, grows to appear stronger. The problem is, sadly, no one fucking cares about the survivors (those who are a strange mixture of both). They are not weak enough to be saved, and not strong enough to save.

So, maybe I should cover my bad-ass red self with a layer of wool, go "MEH MEH, fuckers, save me!", and maybe that's when I will be able to rescue myself from being slaughtered by fuckers who know shit about real achievements; suckers who work in, out, in, out every day compromising their shit-ass values by serving their hypocritical selves on plates polished so clean that the gleam washes them over with a wave of blinding silver.

Great job on paying attention to the minute details, people! because yeah, the world is going to love your fucking "I-am-wearing-a-crisply-starched-and-neat-office-suit" selves, your fat-ass leather wallets, your exorbitant cars, and your straight-laced "live by day, sleep by night" principles. Uh huh, uh huh!

So seriously, what do you expect me to say?

"No Issues, Mister. I don't want to buy them Issues. No, just get me chalk to white myself over, and over."

FUCK YOU.

Labels: rant

Posted by martha lung on Wednesday, January 10, 2007 at 11:51 PM | Permalink