Dear Creepy Fuckhead Flies,

Fuck Off.

Even if I do stink, even if my laptop is the only source of light, there is no reason for you crawl around on my arm, probably vomiting on me then licking it back up because that's what YOU do, isn't it?HUH!? It feels creepy. Like I've fallen into an abyss and a thousand tarantulas start crawling over me and I mustn't move or they'll bite me with their nasty pincers. Or like I'm on a gameshow in a bath of scorpions. The worst bit is that I think you're flies, but I'm not 126% sure you're not actually nasty spiders or scorpions.

Whatever, I don't like it. GO AWAY.

WOW I REALLY LOVE LIVING IN THIS CITY SOMETIMES JUST TO ADD TO ALL THE SMALL TOWN HICK FEEL AND INCEST AND BEING BEHIND THE TIMES THEN WHEN A FESTIVAL COMES TO TOWN AND YOU THINK WOW SOMETHING GREAT IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING AND HALF OF THE AMAZING BANDS DECIDE THEY CAN'T BE FUCKED PLAYING ONE EXTRA LITTLE SHOW BECAUSE APPARENTLY WE'RE JUST NOT WORTH IT, OH SHIT DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT GUYYSSS SERIOUSLY WE WON'T FEEL REJECTED OR ANYTHING OR END UP RESENTING YOU BECAUSE YOU REJECTED US. WHATEVER. fuck.

dear fuckhead (housemate)

first of all, i do not appreciate you breaking my kitchen light, my cupboard door, burning the shower curtain when you decided to smoke in the fucking bath, using up all my internet quota for the month and leaving us 14 days of being shaped when i really need the internet especially during those 2 weeks. i do not appreciate you leaving your stinking shoes in my living room, propping your stinking feet on my vintage coffee table, and connecting your laptop to our modem via the ONLY cable we own because the wireless range is slowly dying after almost 4 years of use and you have refused to go halves on buying a new one because, let me quote, you "won't be using it cos i'm moving out in a month".

and you have been saying that for three months now.

get. the. fuck. out. already.

i've had enough.

i hate those 'paintings' your friend did that you put on the walls. they are disgusting and the colours are all wrong. and i hate that when one fell down, you just left it propped leaning against the wall and didn't bother to put it back up, or get rid of it. and it has been there for almost a year. i want it gone!

i hate how you leave the dishes to mold in the sink, or on my coffee table. i hate how everytime you make tea, you take a fresh teaspoon, stir it in your cup and then leave it in the sink instead of picking it up again and giving it a quick rinse before re-using, so that by the end of the week, ALL the teaspoons are in the sink. what is wrong with you?

also, could you please NOT use my dishes as ashtrays? and take the stove lighter and leave it outside when you go to have a smoke? and for fuck's sake, get rid of those cigarette butts! i hate waking up in the morning to the smell of your smoke wafting in through my window. it ruins my day.

i am making a promise to myself, and sally who wants your room, that if you have not started looking for a place by the end of the week, i am going to make things VERY difficult.

i'll buy that new modem and change the password so you can't use it.

maybe i'll even change the locks..

yours sincerely

anon.

~thankyou anon, for this glorious vent! I vent, you vent, we all vent together...our best wishes for a fuckhead free future.~

I would like at this moment to express myself through the immortal swedish genius that is PB&J

hey scrotumfeatures* shut the fuck up now. You are starting to PISS ME OFF.

don't worry if you're reading this I'm pretty certain it's not you, I doubt scrotumfeatures would ever give enough of a shit about my life or anyone else's (unless he/she wants to get into their pants) to go so far as to read my blog so every word you read increases the likeliness you are not in fact the aforementioned fuckface.
Still, I'm putting it out there that SF, you are one of the most irritating, strange-in-a-bad-way, self-righteous, arrogant being I have ever been forced to spend a prolonged amount of time with.**


*not real name. Or real lyric
**note this excludes you from random dickhead strangers who have momentarily chanced through my life, I am a slightly nice person who will afford you some leniency.***
***(possibly only to make myself feel better and like a slightly less nasty motherfucker.)

Dear Reader,

If you have your own letters to Fuckheads you'd like me to post, send them along to thalea.is@gmail.com and we can all have a good vent together.

X

Dear Fuckhead,

Please do not start an argument with me while I'm cooking, causing me to lock myself away in my room and sulk while my wholemeal banana and date muffins are probably at this very moment burning away into little black rocks even the chooks won't touch but my pride refuses to let me leave the room and make peace so I can rescue my poor and now once again failed attempts at cooking...

Fool.

Do you realise if you were as good at writing essays as you were at making up excuses to make yourself feel better for not doing essays and therefore leading to a probably fail.... you'd be an HD student?

How bout that.


Fuckhead.

Dear Fuckhead,



How dare you spike my friends drink. How dare you spike anyone's drink.

You're pretty fucking lucky I have no idea how to get my hands on you.

Because if I could, I would literally cut off your balls and stuff them up your own arse. Maybe that's a bit extreme and disgusting but you are a worthless piece of shit

Dear Economy,

Stop being so fucking naughty. I'm sick of hearing about you in the news all the time. You're like a bad celebrity that can't keep their bits in their undies.

Dear Miss Barista,



Fuck you for putting full cream milk in my skim flat white this morning. Yes - i could tell the difference you lazy moll. Pouring it down my throat as I dashed to tute was like devouring a whole tub of rich cream and as such the caffeine did nothing to make me feel better, instead I felt ill all day as my poor guts tried to cope with the onslaught.

Dear Fuckhead.

Do not think your status as 7/11 store night manager gives you some sort of authority.
Do not, upon realising this, take out your remnant teenage angst on the customer.
We should be friends. There should be a mutual respect going on here. You provide me with what I want and I, by visiting your particular and handing over my shiny banknotes to your greasy hands, are giving you what you want.
But fine. Be a fuckhead if that's what you want. Refuse to believe that ID is my ID, despite the fact it looks like me apart from the fringe and the other guy working with you confirms it's me, force me to pull out every form of identification in my purse and yet still insinuate that I have stolen this wallet from some poor girl who just happens to look exactly like me. Snatch my money from my hand when you do finally realise the stupidity of your sick game. Slam it in the till and storm off. Be a fuckhead. WHATEVERRRRR.....

Dear Jared,

Fuck you for being so amazing in every way, and yet not inside me.

To: Albert Hammond Jr.

I still haven't really forgiven you for missing Splendour last year.





that is all.

Dear Gym,



Stop calling me.

I'm never coming back.

Ever.

I endured as much old lady sweat and vagina smell as one can handle and frankly, if I'm going to get off my arse and work up a sweat myself I would rather do it outdoors, goddam walking my dog.

Besides my extreme dislike for the place, I'm pretty sure the free membership (the only thing that got me in there in the first place) would have expired by now and I don't really feel like handing over money to use your sweat-stained machines that cause my body what I see as unnecessary pain.



Goodbye forever, unless god forbid I wake up one morning and read 100+ on the scales. In which case I probably wouldn't actually come back but go on a reality show for fatties and try make some money out of my predicament.

Dear Fuckhead,



Please do something about the abominable mess you call a bedroom. Seriously, it's getting ridiculous now. It particularly affects me because I have to live in there with you, and I'm getting worried about catching a disease or developing a nasty skin rash. Thankyou.



P.s. and throw out those godawful Clearwater Crossing books already.