What a fucking bitch. What about “I do have some work to do” is so hard to understand? May as well start telling everyone to piss off now.

Can’t believe the pet just walks in here, all proud and mighty, with Howard’s name painted all over her tits. It’s basically her name card. It’s what everyone like her does: too stupid, too slow, too bloody useless to get a proper job, so to compensate, they marry some man who earns all of that money for them. Well, tough shit bitch, it won’t be your fat arse, greasy husband watching over me, it’ll be me staring down at him from upstairs.

I don’t understand why it’s so hard to accept that perhaps a man, Howard, just isn’t as fucking great at their job as I am. I don’t understand how that Rosemary git could complain about Howard getting pissed off, whining like a little bint at home, and still stand here trying to defend that tragedy of a man. Speaks fucking volumes about just how weak the lot of them are.

I succeed not because I’ve got tits or a fanny, but because I’m simply better. Howard has a family to provide, sure, but does it look like I give a shit? I made my decisions for a reason. Angie’s not with me for a reason. I’m an individual, a young, driven, rich, successful competitor of this game of life, and I’ve made sacrifices to do it. If Howard wants to keep that slut of a wife and raise a family, that’s his choice. Not my fault he’s not willing to sacrifice what is needed to do what matters most: to win.

I frankly don’t give a rats arse about how hard Howard works, how many cigarettes he smokes, how fucked his blood-cholesterol level is, whether any of those three children have fucking bone marrow cancer. All that matters is that I won, he lost. Suck it up, bitch.