Does the author hate women? Genuine ****ing question. It's like being doused in rage acid from head to toe every time there's a girl. All their personalities are godawful. And I don't mean they're realistically godawful. They are teeth-shattering, bone-grinding, absolute blood-pressure-igniting atrociously annoying people. The author probably falls asleep and dreams of making out with men. Nothing wrong about liking men. But they also probably dream about a world where women do nothing except grow huge titties and blush all the time. It's appalling. If my girl friends acted like these maids and that she-demon sister, I would frame them for a first degree felony and hope they get locked away for life, for the sake of society's peace. It's like running nails across a goddamn chalkboard, except the chalkboard is made of razors and needles, and I'm not just running my nails across it, I'm rubbing my entire body against it. To the author, wherever you are: I am your biggest hater. If if you have 100 haters, I'm one of them. 10 haters, I am still there. 0 haters, I am dead and haunting your every step. Also, maybe consider, if the women in your life have made you feel like they are all like this, then it's your own fault. Love you. (No, I don't. Kindly stop writing.)
Does the author hate women? Genuine ****ing question. It's like being doused in rage acid from head to toe every time there's a girl. All their personalities are godawful. And I don't mean they're realistically godawful. They are teeth-shattering, bone-grinding, absolute blood-pressure-igniting atrociously annoying people. The author probably falls asleep and dreams of making out with men. Nothing wrong about liking men. But they also probably dream about a world where women do nothing except grow huge titties and blush all the time. It's appalling. If my girl friends acted like these maids and that she-demon sister, I would frame them for a first degree felony and hope they get locked away for life, for the sake of society's peace. It's like running nails across a goddamn chalkboard, except the chalkboard is made of razors and needles, and I'm not just running my nails across it, I'm rubbing my entire body against it. To the author, wherever you are: I am your biggest hater. If if you have 100 haters, I'm one of them. 10 haters, I am still there. 0 haters, I am dead and haunting your every step. Also, maybe consider, if the women in your life have made you feel like they are all like this, then it's your own fault. Love you. (No, I don't. Kindly stop writing.)