Touchy, Touchy

You amuse me. At the same time, I pity you.

You react to every single thing that doesn't work for you. You love to blame everything and you cannot live without conflict. Bitching is second nature to you. You just have to drag innocent people into your issues and make them take sides. I don't know how to break this to you, but you're already done with high school. (At least I hope you did graduate high school.)

I want to get angry at you, but I cannot find it in my to do so. You're simply pathetic. You're pitiful.

When you compare me to a subservient dog just because I refuse to take your side, I know for a fact that you're grasping at straws. After all, I'm not the one who has a miserable life. I'm not the one who has to take the bus to work and back home. I'm not the one who was mugged countless times already. And I'm not the one who's going to work in the middle of the desert for the Arabs and possibly get gang raped by them.

You're still prancing around, anger evident in your features. So who loses here, really?

I ain't even mad.