Oh boy, an early Christmas present of dumb shit said by a criminally repulsive balding ape. Let's spork it:
My Dad Died Please Fuck Me Ashlaaay said:
My mom asked me if I knew what day it was. I thought it an odd query, but nothing more. Being somewhat distracted with preparing supper at the time -- salmon croquettes and baked potatoes-- I simply answered, "The week before Christmas".
She reminded me that it was the same day my father had died-- Dec 17, 1997. I took a moment to pause and reflect on this.
I seem to remember Johnny using his dad's death a few times to try and get pity, including pity sex. That he can't even remember the date tells you a lot about how much he cared about his dad. Which is to say not at all.
My Family Despises Me said:
I thought about how lucky Sandi was that she had a support network of family and friends to help her through this terrible time... to say nothing of my brother.
Oh wow, is he going to complain about how he has no one? Oh who am I kidding, of course he will. And he wonders why no one will mourn his passing, except maybe as a "If only I could have gotten Jonathan the psychiatric help he needed" sort of remembrance.
Thirsty Douche said:
What they have is something truly special. They care for and support one another, in good times and bad. When one is happy, the other shares their joy. When one weeps, the other comforts them. When one stumbles, the other picks them up. I sincerely wished that when I'd lost my dad, I'd had someone in my life that loved me half as much as she loves him, and he loves her.
And here we go. Jonny the exceptional maniac is about to prove why he both deserves and will not ever get any help from others.
20 Years of Assache said:
I would have dearly appreciated a friend, someone to stand beside me, to be in my corner during my moment of need.
But I didn't. My friends at The Herald had already turned their backs on me. Getting just a little spot of ink in this campus rag of renown, a column in which I could write about my loss, was surely out of the question. No, all I got was a wild phone-fling with a cheap, disturbed little tramp who, when I told her of my father's death, ran out on me... and when she returned after a whole month of silence and found out I had taken up with someone else, ruined not one, but two potential relationships with her petty jealous whining and guilt-trips. On top of that I learn recently that our whole relationship may have been an elaborate, convoluted ploy to send some high-school whore to embarrass and ruin me.
Yep. He's using a person's death as another way to insert his pathetic attempt to rationalize why he was rightfully kicked out of a campus for being a sociopathic freak. The only thing that I will happily comment on, as we've already covered how Jonny was the one to burn his bridges at the paper and the college, is that even if the two relationships were real (lolno) then it's still his fault for trying to two time both of them. I do remember that Jonny did try this, hence why he was rightfully left to die a virgin.
And it takes no effort to ruin a man who is so stupid that he accidentally admitted to such wondrous tales as leaving his mother to die and cowering in the process, taking eight hours to figure out how to leave a tiny building, and that he pisses everywhere like a poorly trained housecat. Troll GF or no, Jonathan Mack Sweet would fuck himself over harder than the coyote from the roadrunner cartoons.
I wrote of all this in my latest book,
Red, Yellow, and Blue: The SweetTart Saga. I told of how, during that dark time in my young life, I was exploited by either a cabal of angry Herald editors or a group of disgruntled readers who wished to frighten me away from Arkansas State University-- sick people, all.
Jokes on you Thumbskull, you have to have value to be exploited, and you have none. On top of that, the college goers were not the ones who stalked and harrassed people for longer than an entire generation has been alive. Stop projecting you inept hick.
Stalking Horror said:
I then mailed a copy to my ex's house... signed with a little note, a dedication to the man she's with now, saying, "How does it feel to be married to the biggest slut in Trumann, Arkansas?"
I hope my little missive arrives in time for Christmas. Things ought to really heat up 'round their house over the holidays, wouldn'tcha say, amigos?
I kind of hope he gets another visit from the cops for being too retarded to quit committing crime. If only to fuck with his holidays out of some A-loggy level of schadenfreude.
[Edited to remove "ex's" link - HSMOF]