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A Grief Stricken Epistle From Emo Greg Hardy

EDIT: This post is complete with a soundtrack.  Press play below before reading.  Allow the music to envelop your emotions.



"Dear" readers of this conformist string of drivel,


Winter, my demon lover, is dead. The foul fragrance of newly wasted life sticks to the pane of every window, the vegetable lust of every tree suffocates the breeze with yellow musk, landing, choking to death in the storm drains. Also, spring practice has begun. This year, moreso than ever before, I find my mind focused less on the pulsing, fetid lifeblood teeming below the flesh of my wrists, and more on football practice. Truth be told, one can only want what one cannot have. Forever. Constrained by my bodily injuries, my injured soul yearns to run FREE! From my walking cast, I must roam along the outskirted boundaries of my former domain, and rather than wreaking mad, lovesick havoc on my imaginary foes I must, instead, (sigh) talk shit to Bradley Sowell.

Cuz for real, ya’ll, ma’boi Marcus Tillman skraight RUINED his doughy ass in practice lmao! 

Despite my attentiveness to their efforts, my compatriots have continued to reject my overtures. I designed this insignia, that we might brand it onto our bodies as a warning to our adversaries of the dark power that lurks within each of us.  Behold, the bearing of my soul: 


No. No, they refused. Instead of embracing the monsters which they hope to emulate, they have once again given into their own vanities and insecurities.

They even dared to find humor in my work: smiling and laughing at its very notion...



(emoGregxx then grabs the first thing within arms reach--a snowglobe featuring the skyline of Detroit--and violently thrusts it against his bookshelf. It shatters, drenching his vinyl copy of the limited edition Something Corporate EP and ironcally-placed Herman Mellville works. He collapses onto his floor, reverting to the fetal position. He weeps.)

Sheep. The lot of 'em. Alas, their rejection of this symbol of our dark compatriotism has left my heart ashamed and full of self-loathing. I disgust me.




P.S. - I loathe every last one of you with all of my heart, except for Goose.  I only loathe him with half of my heart because he helped out with the tattoo design.  Now, LEAVE ME!