There are times when I feel utterly worthless, like a total loser. Like I’m seated between George Zimmerman and a cockroach riding the short bus to hell. First off, I decided I could lower my dose of Luvox (with the shrink’s permission). Yeah, that might not be working so well, because I feel like ripping out my spine Mortal Kombat style. Why? Because the announcer in my head never declares “flawless victory!” My announcer always says, “Nice going, asshat!” Even when I’m not doing anything in particular right or wrong, my announcer screams “You lose, dumbass!” or “Just stop. You need to restart, fucktard.” Right about now, I kinda hate myself. I lost the ticket to redeem my redeeming qualities. “Be ye perfect” is in the Bible somewhere, but I’m riding the short bus to hell, and Jodi Arias is giving me bunny ears in the seat behind me.
Oh damn, I misspelled “worthlessness,” but I’m gonna leave it that way to be hip