So basically your best friend has the mental acuity of a genius, but chooses to speak only in baby talk. Because you let her get away with shit of this nature,
So basically your best friend has the mental acuity of a genius, but chooses to speak only in baby talk. Because you let her get away with shit of this nature, she tells you that you’re the coolest, bestest person in the whole wide world, ’cause that’s just how best friends do. You go on naked drug-infested forays into mayhem, and you’re totally the best of friends, even though she always makes you drive and pay for everything. But, because apparently you love each other so goddamned much, of course you’re totally gonna comp her so long as it means you’ll be in for the party of the century. But when she slits her wrists post dipping on those crazy mollies you gave her, she immediately rages at you via text because it’s all your fucking fault that she took the damn things on a Monday night. And now she’s like, half dead.
Death defeated and twat plugged with some rebound high school stoner, she pleads for boyfriend #48 to kill her so she doesn’t have to do it herself. When he’s all “Noooooo,” she commits herself to the county psych ward to get “help.” Since she is some cunning shade of brilliant, it’s not like she has pressing enough issues to be staking out the loony bin. She could totally just see a decent shrink, but she’s trying really hard to convince you she is oh so dark and plagued and alluring and shit. You’re a pretty smart cookie too, so you begin to realize her stint is just another complete crock o’ shit her parents can’t afford. When she magically gets better in just three days, she comes home to tell you tales about people who shit on themselves and eat it. And you gotta admit, shit’s pretty funny and worth keeping around.
When she drops out of school the next day, quits work, and falls off of the face of the fucking planet, she also severs ties with the same broke ass parents who are subsidizing these tweaker fests. To cope, she vapes away all of your bud, only to let you know she can barely walk because of all the speed she’s taken today. She mentions it as if it was a trivial part of her day that you should have been intuitively inclined toward understanding. Since you weren’t, she now has a reason to make you feel astronomically guilty for having reasonable expectations of adult human behavior, and this means you’ll be cool with her doing lines straight out of your panties.
And when she’s taken you for all you’re worth, you realize, “Hey, I work two jobs and have a real life,” you start refusing to indulge her every whim. She quickly figures out that being spoonfed drama isn’t your top priority, so she texts you little gumdrops of hatred just to let you know that you’re completely unlovable, and by the way, she did the rest of the Adderall and can’t move. Of course, it’s all your fucking fault because you’re not paying enough attention to her. She’ll never speak to you again now, for supposin’ you would have better things to do than tend to boyfriend #48’s bedside to pry her out of her speed coma.
Next week, after a few more gemlets of hate ping your inbox, you say, “No. You and your cronies cannot come the fuck over.” To spite you, she shows up unannounced in the middle of the night anyway with boyfriend #52 and some drunken, punk ass, anarchist schlosers. They sow their crusty oats everywhere, totally down all your beer, wreck your pad, and severely piss off your neighbors. You become really upset that your best friend is on your roof fucking #52 instead of containing these fuckfiends, who also break your roommate’s iPod and use your couch as an ashtray. When you are like, “Uh, SHIT NAH” about this fuss, she storms out and sends you rampant psycho texts rewording everything you’ve ever said to her to make it seem as if you somehow did these things to yourself. You’re just “being a bitch for no apparent reason.”
After three days of psycho-free tranquility, you decide you are a person of utmost decency, forgiveness, and second hundredth chances. You’ll give the bitch one last pass at being anything other than an opportunistic cunt on wheels. When invited to #52’s crash pad, you find her and those communist fuckups smoking all of your imported cigs straight from the carton, which she personally liberated from your very own bedroom. With all the perks you give this bitch, you have no words for this kind of violation, so you bust out of that shithole never to return. Guess it’s your fault for expecting your best fucking friend to keep all five fingers offa ya shit.
To really invert your nips, as if this were not already liken to Chinese water torture, the following week she crashes your house at 1 AM with an even bigger onslaught of crusty diaper wipes. When you are not home and your roommate answers the door, the bitch kicks the door in your roommate’s face and does a Napoleon Dynamite down the street to “make a point.” Seeing as she didn’t have a point to make, she unfacebooks you, and informs everyone on your friends list that you are a twisted cunt for raining on her shit parade.
All this drama, to which you say, “It’s my birthday, and I’m calling your mom.”
Please, it’s my birthday. Call that bitch’s mom.