The next time I see him I plan to tell him that any man that drives a Jetta is at least 10% gay. Nothing like taking cheap shots at a man who has never been secure in his sexuality. Or, better yet, I'll comment on how his girlfriend drives a huge ass truck which sharply contrasts his new metrosexual wheels.

Bastard. Bastard. Fucking Bastard.

You know, he really fucks with my life, acting like such a massive asshole all the goddamn time and then trying to make it seem like I'm the one who's doing him wrong. If I was crazy rich I would hire goons to strand him on a deserted island. Fucker.

Okay. I'm going to try to not be so angry now. I went to Kmart today and Carol drew me a map to get to her house so that Kyle and Nikki and I can go swim in her pool. As if I want to go spend a fucking day with Carol. No thanks.

I'm also having muffler problems so my little bitch of a car now sounds like a huge ass Harley. The sound itself is kind of cool, but the fact that it is coming out of my piss-yellow '85 Golf is not. So I called my mom and told her to call her mechanic friend and find a night when we can all go car shopping. Looking for a new car sounds like so much work though.

All right. Once more for good measure: FUCK YOU, DAD. FUCK YOU.

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