An open letter to you, Douche Canoe

This letter is to you, Douche Canoe. (See what I did there? God it hurts to be this awesome.)

*Fair warning to my regular readers. This is not polite or nice. It reeks of desperation, pain and general malice. And I'm going to thoroughly enjoy eviscerating the asshat who's made me feel this way. I cannot accurately portray how angry I am.

Today I receive a message from a certain someone in England about how he's 'unexpectedly' met someone and they've really hit it off. But that I'm still more than welcome to come and enjoy my vacation as we otherwise would have, but just in a 'friend' capacity. You know, the one I'm going to see on Tuesday. This Tuesday. 3 days from now.

First of all I have friends here in my own country. In my own state, my own town and even my own fucking swank apartment. Why the Fuck am I flying 3000 miles across an ocean to go the zoo with a 'friend,' when I can look out my motherfucking 10th-story window and see the birds? Oh that's right. I'm not. I was going to England because I actually had developed feelings for someone, someone whom I thought was looking forward to fostering those feelings and developing them further. My friends, the ones who live here, are way fucking awesomer than you'd ever be especially after you've successfully proven you're a douche-canoe who cannot wait two weeks to get his cock wet. Nevermind the fact that you asked me to come! Oh and I asked you on TWO DIFFERENT OCCASIONS BEFORE I BOUGHT THE TICKET TO FLY THE FUCK OVER THERE, BOY ARE MY ARMS TIRED, if you still wanted me to come? WHERE WAS AGATHA THEN? Where was the bitch THEN?

You, who then developed feelings for some gap-toothed English cunt (I apologize to my British readers. I don't honestly feel this way about all of you. Just this one.) and if she isn't English then she's probably in the airforce and guess who's in for a giant surprise there? Girls in the airforce like pussy. Everyone know airforce girls are les-bi-ans. Not that there is anything wrong with that but you're in for a rude awakening. Good luck with thaaaaat.

Secondly, I'm not fucking stupid. You know this. Your bitch can realize it too when she's reading the message with which I responded to you. I know your game. I knew when you met the bitch. I've known. I could probably even pin-point the day. Ask my friends, you know, the ones that live here and are actual friends. I knew.

What really is going on here is that you're fucking afraid. You're afraid I'll get over there and you'll realize how fucking awesome I am and how much you really like me and then I'll leave, whomp whomp, and you won't have any regular pussy and you'll miss me. So you're willing to throw the baby out with the bathwater, which by the way is fucking A-O-K with me because it saves me the trouble of sabotaging our relationship. Thanks for that. It can get really taxing sabotaging and such. You're willing to abandon me in lieu of regular mediocre pussy. Good on you. Enjoy that.

Mostly why did you waste my fucking time and money? Do you know that Sex-on-Skates paraded over here a while back and told me that he was MAD AT HIS GIRLFRIEND and I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT because I was trying to be respectful. I didn't want to send you a message that said 'Hey, I've decided to fall in love with my super-attractive, more emotionally and physicially available neighbor. Deuces.' No, I'm not a douche canoe. I'm a nice person.

Just in case you can't follow the logic:

You = douche canoe.
Me = Not so much.

The fucked up part about all of this is that I was really excited. I really liked you. I really wanted to make something with you work and I was looking forward to trying that. Me, Captain Cynical, finally opened up and was vulnerable and you squashed me like a water-bug. Thanks for shitting on my heart. You're a fucking rock-star. I'm so grateful you're on an entirely different continent because right now it's doing me a lot of good to know we're not breathing the same air. That and there are at least 30 people who read my blog and will know what kind of pond scum you have for a heart. They may not know your name and they not know where you are in England but they your ugly, pitiful soul and I sincerely hope they forward this to 30 of their friends who then do the same. So that the exponential growth of people that know your true douche-canoe nature keeps you up at night.

Grassroot campaigns baby. They work.

Enjoy your week off. I hear chicks like the zoo.

The most sincere I've ever been in my life,
Anna Gray