That guy down the street
Jesus, I hate that guy. He's always bragging about his stupid collection of porcelain beer steins, his lousy stinking pool table (maroon felt? are you kidding me?) and his sports room, with the huge goddamn tv. He's a straight up deutsch bag.
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I mean, with his ridiculous frosted glass showers, like you want to see his ridiculous muscled body. Who is he trying to impress? Jesus, I'd be in shape if I had a bowflex, too. And the way he always leaves his blinds up at night so that you can see right in, and the way he never locks his door, so you can walk right in and smell all his dirty laundry... the hell does he think he is?
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I'll kill him, I swear to god. I'll just get a gun and kill him. The way he smiled at me when he asked me to that barbecue last week... BYOB... what a joke. It's like he knows I'm in love with him... it's like he's always known. The only way is to kill him, and wipe that stupid grin off his face. I mean, when he waved at me when he drove by the other week, and the way that he asked if I could get his mail when he was gone that weekend... I'll kill him and his whole family, I swear to God. I'll do it Tuesday, I promise I will. I wonder if I should notify the Homeowner's Association first so that they can send a cleaner...
I've never loved someone so much in my life, I swear to God. It's like I swallowed a live ferret and it's crawling around in my chest. My face is hot with tears, so much so that I can't see through them. The look in his eyes when I baked him that sweet potato casserole and brought it over was like daggers aimed straight for my heart. I know he doesn't like sweet potatoes, he was only being polite... I'll swallow every sleeping pill I've got. I can kill myself with that many, I know it. Goodbye world! You've been a cruel bitch!