Let me just say that I've never done a post here with the newfangled "Sparkler Posts" format. I don't enjoy this new format. But my hatred of you overpowers my hatred of this format. Why? Well you probably already know, but you probably think I'm being irrational. Well, no. It's catharsis time. Prepare yourself, fratboy, because what I'm about to say is going to make you long for the days of being hazed.
I remember when we met. You were so cute and funny and nice. I remember our first date. I remember how we had everything in common and how you told me how I was so great and how you loved me and how different I was from all of the other girls.
I also remember you deciding to give me the cold shoulder in class, you telling me that you only liked me when you were drunk at my sorority meeting, and our huge fight at your fraternity's party. How could I forget you dragging those girls around, dancing with them and making out with them right in front of me, loudly feeding them the same lines you used on me, and then giving me looks as if you were daring to object? Let me tell you, my little rompicoglioni - never mess with an Italian girl. You'd better start wearing a cup, because my (eye) balls are on your (tiny) balls.
I'm sorry if you think I led you on. But, my dear, if not wanting to have sex in my roommate's bed makes me a bad person, then cart me right off to the underworld. Hades will laugh so hard at what apparently makes me such an awful person that he'll accidentally flame up and destroy the world. You just destroyed the world, asshole. How does it feel knowing you just killed everyone? But that's okay. It's not like you didn't want to have sex in your roommate's bed. Now that's wild and crazy! In fact, Emperor Palpatine just sent me a text asking for advice for his next wicked deed. Whoa! How you doing, Sauron? Nurse Ratched, you too? And Anton Chirgurh, long time no talk!
I'd also appreciate it if you didn't spread crazy rumors about me to your fraternity brothers. Seriously, are you an insecure fifteen-year-old girl? My dear, they don't think you're the victim here. They think you're being ridiculous.
All in all, my cousin's five-year-old daughter is more emotionally mature than you, you're whinier than every Project Runway designer combined, and your hair is stupid. Sure, you have perfectly sculpted arms and abs. Sure, you're an insanely good soccer player. And sure, you can kiss like nobody's business. Yeah, a bunch of girls will probably love that about you. But good luck finding another sorority girl who has a dirty (not to mention toilet-based) sense of humor, loves Dexter and Psych, can drink as much as you can, appreciates video games, can look damn hot when she wants to, gets along with your brothers (to the point that everyone says she's practically in the fraternity) and gets a kick out of you peeing over the edge of a balcony. Let me know how the search is going. I'm sure you're so successful.
Way more than just a good slampiece,
P.S. Because of you, I listened to Taylor Swift. I enjoyed Taylor Swift. I empathized with Taylor Swift. And that is unforgivable.
Originally published on February 5, 2013.