I don't know what your ex-boyfriend ever saw in you. When you weren't using his money to suck the fat out of your thighs and squirt it into your lips, you were scamming on ugly strangers at a bar or generally acting like a coked-out mess. You weren't being paranoid when you worried that all his friends hated you; they wanted you gone long ago.

Now that he has thankfully wised up and shown you the door, you are accusing him of pederasty and screeching to anyone who will listen that you are suing him for the millions you are somehow owed. Listen: He doesn't owe you dick. You are a shrill, unemployed harpy with no redeeming qualities, and in a few years, your life will be as much of a mess as your nasal cavity. I don't want to have awkward public run-ins where I fantasize faking my own death just to get out of the conversation, so do us all a favor and find your next sugar daddy in another state. Then we can all forget you ever existed, and you can get back to playing sit-and-spin with a fire hydrant, or whatever it is tragically tacky houseboys do with their time.