…and other squalid derivatives of human character.
T, the love addicted, fiftysomething-year-old, married diner waitress who chases after taken-men.
H, the sex addicted insecure financial advisor who’s screaming on the inside for love and recognition.
I, (leave her out of this)
S, the self-loathing, well-educated, pithy talker who has the creative intelligence of a master craftsman, but looks like a homeless person.
C, the narcissistic closet-homo sycophant whose loneliness is too dismal for me to comprehend.
O, the barbiturate popper.
U, who thinks she knows everything bullshit and her egocentric, parasitic life. Stay away from her.
L, the eccentric 83-year-old, hunch-backed old lady who lives in squalor and smells like cat piss.
D, the dead-beat anti-social porn addict who wastes his life away sitting in front of a computer, rubbing one off to pictures of amateur submissives.
B, cradled in the belly of innocence…you make no sense.
E, you sociopathic narcissistic manic-depressive alcoholic pill popping gambler & sex addicted fuck. Fuck you.
Y, the emotionally detached, peter-panish soft-hearted bad guy misanthrope.
O, the trailer-park trash gold-digging whore
U, the bottomless pit