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[Sep. 9th, 2010|04:50 pm] |
To my dear darling sisters who I love to death and would be devastated without:
SOD OFF.
There's nothing that nagging, berating, or cursing at me is going to change. I ain't that hard up. I don't want your charity. I don't want you arranging job interviews for me. I don't want you trying to talk Da into letting me back in the house. I've been gone a good six years for a reason, and we both like it that way. We'd drive each other insane if we had to tolerate each other every day. I don't want you talking to anyone about me. I don't need your sympathy. I don't want your pity. I would rather if you just did nothing because whatever you might put yourself to ain't going to make a lick of difference anyway.
So once again, sod the hell off and just leave me to waste my useless life however I damn well please.
Forever and always your loving and adoring brother,
Dung Fletcher |
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[Sep. 5th, 2010|03:17 pm] |
WARDED PRIVATE
Bloody buggering hell. Some days I wonder whether any of them has an ounce of self-preservation. Giving two fingers to a bunch of bastards who are more than willing to kill you where you stand is not the best damn way to keep your hide intact. What's that that Dad used to say? No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor, dumb bastard die for his country. Country, Cause. All boils down to the same damn thing in the end.
WARDED TO THE ORDER
Nice weather we've been having lately, eh? |
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