Knock It Off, Hag
Tor nine months now, you have been convinced that I am fucking the guy you're fucking. He's been my friend for 11 years, yet you are so obsessed with the fear that we're together that you have trashed my name to our mutual friends and anyone else who will listen. You erased my number from his phone. You told the man I was dating and yet another friend to get tested, even though I'm not fucking the latter friend, either. Hell, I even sat down and told you straight up and respectfully that there was nothing going on, yet still the vicious rumors you spread about me sleeping around and having STDs continue. This came to a head when I saw you at a show and you greeted me with "What's up, slut?" I am THROUGH. I'm prepared to call the lawyer I worked for and see what can be done (so far, harassment and slander are legal violations). But if all else fails, I'm going to beat you down like the guano bitch you are (which really isn't my style, but don't let that lull you into a false sense of security). You're in your 40s and at least a decade my senior—get off the goddamn playground, child, and figure out how to generate some fucking admiration and respect, rather than the pity and disgust you currently inspire.