this is not the fucking around crew...

by Rachel Lynch in


He doesn't fucking care. Don't you get it. You are so f**-ing blind. Fur and leather and platforms and dollar signs and fucking. How can he see through all that costume? No. Better question, How can he not see through all your bullshit? Seriously. He knows you don't care, so just fucking stop. Don't tell him anything. He doesn't want anything. Fame? Had it, fuck it. Friends? Had them, they fucked me. Money? Have it, don't fucking want it. Words? All I fucking care about.

See, you sit there in judgement. You sit there with your fat thighs squished atop your lame ass ikea desk chair and judge and judge and judge and judge till the cows come home. And he blows up your twitter and you judge and judge and judge some more. Because how can you not see it. How can you not want to be it. A topic discussion, a thread, a recognizable face.

But the funniest part? He doesn't care. He doesn't F***-ING care. He doesn't fucking care what you have to say about him or anything else. How many times do I have to say it?

You're the deaf motherfucker, not him.