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moar of my story
I didn't know whether to be annoyed or just plain pissed off. The guy I was supposed to meet this morning; august 26th 2003, wasn't where he was supposed to be. Any ingrate knows never to not show up. Then again, the people I'm dealing with are not only idiots, but idiots who abuse drugs. By the way, don't even think of calling me a hypocrit for that statement. I don't abuse drugs, I don't have a drug problem. Everything is under control. Anyone who comes to someone like me and pays my prices for this kind of stuff definitly has some sort of problem. Hell, I should hire a therapist and charge my costomers to see him before they make the transaction with me. When you think about it I'm doing these idiots a great favor in assisting them to kill themselves. How selfless of me, wouldn't you say? Just think how much easier things would be if there were more people like me, out there to help wipe out the intelligent. You know, sort of like natural selection but more pleasurable. You might think I'm insane, these words I speak. They are so negative. You must be appalled by my derisions. Of course, you'll blame it on the drugs. But no, that isn't why I am the way I am. I was born this way, ever since I was a baby I had an extreme hate for people. Every. Single. One of them. They all make me sick. I had always had a feeling of higher self-worth than anyone I could hope to meet. My assumptions were only confirmed when I started what I'm doing now. I'm not a drug lord. I am the drug god. Going global isn't for me though, I like the small, unpublicized life. The cubans can find their own cocaine. Besides no matter where I am, I'll always get the same amount of glory from others stupidity. In other words when I trip, you fall. That aboust sums up my perfect life.
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