The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Because the Crazies Just Can't Be Reasoned With
Vilest of villains,
Okay Nadya, this is what you want? A complete dismissal of all privacy? Fair enough, you were kicked out of the ranks of society’s most noble a long, long time ago, if, in fact, you ever made it in. I see you’re still the same rotten, mean-spirited person you’ve been for quite some time so let’s get some things straight.
First off, and for the record, I quit drinking of my own accord. It was my choice. It’s been my choice and I’ve stuck with it. If you want to call a casual conversation with my father at a TGIFridays an intervention, go on right ahead. As it happened though, we had a discussion, and I was smart enough to actually listen to him and think about what he said. I made the decision to quit that day myself. There was no therapy needed, no threats, no counselors, no quitting aids. Just a little thing we Americans call willpower and rational thought.
I’m not at all surprised that you’d want me to rejoin the ranks of the permanently inebriated, not surprised in the least that you WOULDN’T want to see someone else bettering their condition. It’s obvious that you don’t want to have to be the only one left wallowing in your pathetic existence as a vodka bottle-suckling drunk surrounded by empty bottles and left with the memories of your cheap encounters and the stupid things you’ve done and all the relationships you’ve ruined. I realize that you’d rather there were several other boozehounds beside yourself, others to deflect people’s attentions from yourself so that you wouldn’t have to feel so pathetic and alone when you’re left being the only lush everyone knows. I’m a month sober tomorrow. When was the last time you went two days? When was the last time you went ONE day?
I wouldn’t want to be like you: not some person that blows away all their money on booze, not some person with kidney damage so bad that a doctor can cause you pain by merely placing a hand upon your stomach. I realize you come from a culture of alcoholics and the mentally-unfit, but you would be quite lucky to get an intervention yourself.
That said, because I do love when the pot calls the kettle black, and I’m further aware that you live in the absolute biggest of glass houses, let’s get to the topic of mental illness.
Do you know what mental illness is?
Mental illness is not being able to go a day without drinking.
Mental illness is waking up someone in the middle of the night and screaming at them for several hours because they didn’t bring you a large amount of booze.
Mental illness is having an incestuous fascination with your father.
Mental illness is completely despising your sister for the way your parents have treated her.
Mental illness is harboring a strong desire to sleep with prepubescent boys, and feeling as if this is the most right and normal thing in the world.
Mental illness is believing that it’s not rape if it happens to a male, and that every time an older woman takes advantage of a younger male, it’s perfectly justifiable.
Mental illness is calling every person that hasn’t wanted to sleep with you “gay”.
Mental illness is losing contact with a friend, developing an intense personal hatred for her, checking her blog obsessively everyday, anonymously tormenting her constantly with rude comments, and when she starts up a new blog in order to escape your cruel barbs, making up a phony email address and sending her an email to get her new blog address so that you can start all over again.
Mental illness is also being friendly to her face, visiting and hanging out with her and her boyfriend on occasion, and then going home and continuing to attack her anonymously and writing over and over, obsessively about her at great lengths on your blog.
Mental illness is keeping the aforementioned up for a full three years.
Mental illness is envying absolutely every single other person on the planet for the things they have that you don’t.
Mental illness is laughing at your best friend’s expense and immediately responding with a cruel gripe about her upon learning that she’s just totaled her car in a car accident.
Not stopping to ask if she was hurt at all, that’s probably mental illness too.
Mental illness is continuing to regularly read my webpage, despite already having sworn three or four times that you were stopping for good, continuing to get worked up at the things I write and responding with further attacks on your own page, then claiming I’m obsessed with you because I occasionally check on yours.
Mental illness is believing that everyone congregates to say horrible things about you, and that everyone is constantly saying bad things about you behind your back.
In short, I have a few very justified feelings of hurt and anger in regards to you. It’s nothing unusual, and you know as well as me, you did everything to deserve it. As far as mental illness is concerned, perhaps now you’ll have a better idea of just what exactly mental illness really is.
Oh, and on one last note, deny your fascination with my ability if you will, but don’t think I’m dumb. Did you really think my former boss’s favorite quote wouldn’t show up in a Google search? It’s NOT the most common phrase in the world. In fact, I believe he’s the only one to have ever used it, that is, until you lifted it. So don’t tell me you haven’t borrowed from me and lifted from my ideas and the ideas of others when you know very well you have. And yes, you very well did borrow and alter a title from something I wrote once, something you talked to me near-obsessively about. “Poured From A Blender On A Plane” anyone?
I’m not at all surprised that one of the worst things I ever wrote is something you aspire to match.
It’s not my fault that your poetry is half-assed, your prose is whiny and boring, your song lyrics are tacky and unbelievably bad, and the last time you wrote anything remotely interesting was a few years ago. Claim all you wish of what a great writer you are and of the wealth of ideas in your head, but it simply isn’t true. Heck, “a screwdriver and some motivation” was little more than something you’d accidentally blurted out in regards to your sorry ability with tools until I caught the potential strength of the phrase and impressed upon you the great capability these words had for a potential song. So you made it into a half-assed and altogether lame poem, that’s fine. You can take full credit for the bad writing and for completely letting slip from your grasp all of the potential the piece could have had. That’s all you.
So you say my writing is boring? Is that why you’ve checked my page four times since last night?
Feel free to lift and quote me as you see fit, it hasn’t escaped my attention that you needed to take what I wrote out of context in order to support your own statements. I’m not surprised in the least that there were several things you chose to omit due to the inherent truth of the statements and the things they would force you to admit to. You’re the psycho. You’ve always been the psycho, that’s why you’ve always had such a paranoid fear of people calling you psycho. You know it’s the truth.
You know, I tried writing you directly. I tried settling this between us. So you’ve decided you don’t want to be civil, that’s fine. I know you’re not going to forget about me, but please, at least stop reading my webpage. Just stop. I don’t want you reading it. I don’t want you interjecting yourself into my life. Leave me alone. Seriously, you’ve already said at least three times that you were going to stop reading it. Please, finally do. I will leave you alone. I won’t try to pick fights with you, I won’t try to harass you, just leave me alone. Finally show us all some evidence of this personal growth and improvement of your spirit that you’ve long been talking about. Let’s see this “chrysalis” because I am quite tired of this, and I am quite tired of you.
You say I lost my shit? Lady, you never had your shit togther to begin with.
Be seeing you,
The Virgin Prince
Okay Nadya, this is what you want? A complete dismissal of all privacy? Fair enough, you were kicked out of the ranks of society’s most noble a long, long time ago, if, in fact, you ever made it in. I see you’re still the same rotten, mean-spirited person you’ve been for quite some time so let’s get some things straight.
First off, and for the record, I quit drinking of my own accord. It was my choice. It’s been my choice and I’ve stuck with it. If you want to call a casual conversation with my father at a TGIFridays an intervention, go on right ahead. As it happened though, we had a discussion, and I was smart enough to actually listen to him and think about what he said. I made the decision to quit that day myself. There was no therapy needed, no threats, no counselors, no quitting aids. Just a little thing we Americans call willpower and rational thought.
I’m not at all surprised that you’d want me to rejoin the ranks of the permanently inebriated, not surprised in the least that you WOULDN’T want to see someone else bettering their condition. It’s obvious that you don’t want to have to be the only one left wallowing in your pathetic existence as a vodka bottle-suckling drunk surrounded by empty bottles and left with the memories of your cheap encounters and the stupid things you’ve done and all the relationships you’ve ruined. I realize that you’d rather there were several other boozehounds beside yourself, others to deflect people’s attentions from yourself so that you wouldn’t have to feel so pathetic and alone when you’re left being the only lush everyone knows. I’m a month sober tomorrow. When was the last time you went two days? When was the last time you went ONE day?
I wouldn’t want to be like you: not some person that blows away all their money on booze, not some person with kidney damage so bad that a doctor can cause you pain by merely placing a hand upon your stomach. I realize you come from a culture of alcoholics and the mentally-unfit, but you would be quite lucky to get an intervention yourself.
That said, because I do love when the pot calls the kettle black, and I’m further aware that you live in the absolute biggest of glass houses, let’s get to the topic of mental illness.
Do you know what mental illness is?
Mental illness is not being able to go a day without drinking.
Mental illness is waking up someone in the middle of the night and screaming at them for several hours because they didn’t bring you a large amount of booze.
Mental illness is having an incestuous fascination with your father.
Mental illness is completely despising your sister for the way your parents have treated her.
Mental illness is harboring a strong desire to sleep with prepubescent boys, and feeling as if this is the most right and normal thing in the world.
Mental illness is believing that it’s not rape if it happens to a male, and that every time an older woman takes advantage of a younger male, it’s perfectly justifiable.
Mental illness is calling every person that hasn’t wanted to sleep with you “gay”.
Mental illness is losing contact with a friend, developing an intense personal hatred for her, checking her blog obsessively everyday, anonymously tormenting her constantly with rude comments, and when she starts up a new blog in order to escape your cruel barbs, making up a phony email address and sending her an email to get her new blog address so that you can start all over again.
Mental illness is also being friendly to her face, visiting and hanging out with her and her boyfriend on occasion, and then going home and continuing to attack her anonymously and writing over and over, obsessively about her at great lengths on your blog.
Mental illness is keeping the aforementioned up for a full three years.
Mental illness is envying absolutely every single other person on the planet for the things they have that you don’t.
Mental illness is laughing at your best friend’s expense and immediately responding with a cruel gripe about her upon learning that she’s just totaled her car in a car accident.
Not stopping to ask if she was hurt at all, that’s probably mental illness too.
Mental illness is continuing to regularly read my webpage, despite already having sworn three or four times that you were stopping for good, continuing to get worked up at the things I write and responding with further attacks on your own page, then claiming I’m obsessed with you because I occasionally check on yours.
Mental illness is believing that everyone congregates to say horrible things about you, and that everyone is constantly saying bad things about you behind your back.
In short, I have a few very justified feelings of hurt and anger in regards to you. It’s nothing unusual, and you know as well as me, you did everything to deserve it. As far as mental illness is concerned, perhaps now you’ll have a better idea of just what exactly mental illness really is.
Oh, and on one last note, deny your fascination with my ability if you will, but don’t think I’m dumb. Did you really think my former boss’s favorite quote wouldn’t show up in a Google search? It’s NOT the most common phrase in the world. In fact, I believe he’s the only one to have ever used it, that is, until you lifted it. So don’t tell me you haven’t borrowed from me and lifted from my ideas and the ideas of others when you know very well you have. And yes, you very well did borrow and alter a title from something I wrote once, something you talked to me near-obsessively about. “Poured From A Blender On A Plane” anyone?
I’m not at all surprised that one of the worst things I ever wrote is something you aspire to match.
It’s not my fault that your poetry is half-assed, your prose is whiny and boring, your song lyrics are tacky and unbelievably bad, and the last time you wrote anything remotely interesting was a few years ago. Claim all you wish of what a great writer you are and of the wealth of ideas in your head, but it simply isn’t true. Heck, “a screwdriver and some motivation” was little more than something you’d accidentally blurted out in regards to your sorry ability with tools until I caught the potential strength of the phrase and impressed upon you the great capability these words had for a potential song. So you made it into a half-assed and altogether lame poem, that’s fine. You can take full credit for the bad writing and for completely letting slip from your grasp all of the potential the piece could have had. That’s all you.
So you say my writing is boring? Is that why you’ve checked my page four times since last night?
Feel free to lift and quote me as you see fit, it hasn’t escaped my attention that you needed to take what I wrote out of context in order to support your own statements. I’m not surprised in the least that there were several things you chose to omit due to the inherent truth of the statements and the things they would force you to admit to. You’re the psycho. You’ve always been the psycho, that’s why you’ve always had such a paranoid fear of people calling you psycho. You know it’s the truth.
You know, I tried writing you directly. I tried settling this between us. So you’ve decided you don’t want to be civil, that’s fine. I know you’re not going to forget about me, but please, at least stop reading my webpage. Just stop. I don’t want you reading it. I don’t want you interjecting yourself into my life. Leave me alone. Seriously, you’ve already said at least three times that you were going to stop reading it. Please, finally do. I will leave you alone. I won’t try to pick fights with you, I won’t try to harass you, just leave me alone. Finally show us all some evidence of this personal growth and improvement of your spirit that you’ve long been talking about. Let’s see this “chrysalis” because I am quite tired of this, and I am quite tired of you.
You say I lost my shit? Lady, you never had your shit togther to begin with.
The Virgin Prince
