If the events of July 5 2007 were an isolated instance, my disdain could be (at a stretch) construed as excessive. Sadly, though, Douglas’s high-school reunion was a mere link in the chain of his exclusively reprehensible existence. We’ve communicated on regular intervals for the past five years, (If it weren’t for my job I wouldn’t have spent a single second in his company) and every chance he got he’d ramble on about the book he was writing; a subtle psychological novel about a suicidal author writing a subtle psychological novel about a suicidal author. With the biggest shit-eating grin on his face – as if he’d discovered some lost secret of postmodernism – Douglas would claim he planned to kill himself after the book was published. I’d encourage him to do it. I knew he didn’t have the balls. Aside from that it was more of an act of human decency than anything else. Even if we ignore the fact that poor old Dougie Dex couldn’t possibly be getting any joy out of his ‘life,’ (in quotation marks because I shudder to put his existence on the same level as my own) he’s an actively evil person.

bump?

>>7835286
*posts dick pic*