Faux friends. Yes, those kindz.

You know. I don't understand the nerve of some people. You know the ones. The ones that we could do without breathing the same O2. The ones wasting it for their selfish excuse of being. The ones that their friends (well, so-called friends) congratulate, praise, give regards, hand it to them when success has been achieved. They hug them (Virtually and in real life cuz these fuckers exist err'where. I hear they even exist in the Pacific Ocean.). They call them on the phone. Friends all but bend down and lick the grounds that their feet walk (or swim) upon. Any and every little detail about their declared life of rhapsody is commented on. No matter what the detail may be. If the detail is good. If it is bad. No matter what, the person cannot even fart a fluff in their eyes. For example. An event such as a birthday for illustration. Said friends take the time during their self-proclaimed days of chaos and significance to wish them a happy birthday. Even give gifts. Some to give phone calls. Most of them more so than others. Does the person acknowledge this sympathetic deed? OF COURSE NOT. Will they ever even know that most of the ones that did this deed, even EXIST on the same planet as their intellective being? Hell to the farcking, NO. A big jiggly NO. A big, fat, jiggly, wobbly, stupendous sea creature full of NO. Did the person ever even acknowledge theirs? The friends of the admirable buddy that everyone wants in their lives? OF COURSE NOT ONCE AGAIN. ANOTHER winner on aisle friendship! Why can't these people (the friends) realize that those lumps of adipose tissue will never give a smegma about them and their fascinating lives. Because they are too blinded by the fluff of it.