Yeah, yeah, you got the magic hands. I know, I know, this is coming, like it or not.
You have been laying the groundwork since May and at some point you have to pull the trigger. It's not really up to me and, at this point, it's sort of not really up to you. You have some latitude on timing, but you can't put it off indefinitely.
(Did you really talk to Oprah? All you billionaires know each other and have each other's phone numbers or something?)
And it's sort of inevitable. Either they take me out and murder me, like they did Semmelweis, for daring to think I know something medically useful or someone has to vouch for me.
And it's practically inevitable that it must be you. You got the right bits between your legs. You got enough mojo. You've known me eleven years. We internet "met" before you were such big stuff and before my life became such a social faux pas.
And, oh, yeah, your relationship to your sadistic little sidekick -- whom I spoke with all goddamned day for nine months -- means you know me more like people know their next door neighbor than like some random bimbo who made the mistake of joining your fucking forum all those years ago.
So two requests:
Keep that ungrateful, disrespectful little brat under control and out of my hair.
Get it through your thick skull that you need to do this for the right reason and whoring me out to your friend so he owes you a favor is NOT the right reason.
Please and thank you.
After so much shit, he will be incredibly lucky if he can arrange to meet me for "coffee" (in quotes because I don't think he even drinks coffee). Piece of shit of a human being.