You think you're a big man because you can charm people into ridiculous situations—but you're actually a freaking coward. You led me on for months and I didn't see anybody else the whole time. Then you broke my heart and stopped speaking to me. We sort of tried to patch things up and went through the motions like we were going to be friends. All the while, you kept flirting and giving me false hope. But I finally saw through your nine months of bullshit and blaming your serious, debilitating issues on me, and decided to move on. I went on a great date the next day—only to find out that you'd just slept with him, too. It's getting hard to find a man in this town that you haven't stuck it in, or at the very least tongued and lied to. The icing on the cake is that you gave him the clap because of your runaway skankery. Nice. I hope it burns when you pee until we have a new president. I hope your urine is black, like your so-called soul. So here I sit, brokenhearted again, another potential relationship sullied by you, and possibly diseased. I've seen baboon assholes that are prettier than what's on your inside. I want to snap off your cock and feed it to ravenous wolves, but they probably wouldn't touch it because of where it's been.