Oh, how I loath you. The thought of you makes HEAVE. I hate every last thing about you. Your inability to spell. Your lack of grammar. It all makes me sick to my stomach. The things I want to do to you are so sick and twisted. But you're not worth going to jail for. So I'll sit back and watch you ******** up your life. And enjoy your misery to its fullest potental. AMF, hope we never meet again.
KariH8sEvry1 · Mon May 02, 2005 @ 10:23pm · 3 Comments |