Click HERE for the resounding evidence
This is some good material, for sure. And yes, it's true. I am a pretty heinous individual. Yawn.
I mean, really? How could anyone think that I (refer to my picture above*) am anything less than stunning?
I'm especially fond of "Gilmore Yeats'" comments. Gilmore, by the way, is an internet blog-writer psychologist by trade. He or she or whatever it is diagnoses the internet's finest writers—uh hem—via comment boards and open forums. I have my opinions about this but, hell, I'll let Gilmore have its day. Here is the first of its 2 comments (I've bolded the especially telling symptoms it has pointed out):
"Wow. Gigi is suffering from what’s called “delusions of grandeur”. Gee, I wonder if she hangs out with ugly dudes who worship her, because she’s average looking? I’ve seen it a hundred times. I feel bad for her. She obviously has nothing meaningful in her life, and has to rely on attention from others to be satisfied with herself. I hope she can live past 40, but with the impending anorexia and requisite drug addiction for her needy/depressed personality type, she’ll be lucky to see 40 (Though she looks 45).
I mean, seriously, we’ve all seen this type of girl. Men do not take them seriously because they present themselves so poorly and sluttily. Sure, you have a few orgasms from a few drunken one-nighters, but you will be one lonely, sad, disheveled pile of human debris in a few years. The clock is ticking, she’ll never have kids, or a family. Guys don’t want to marry a skank.
Gil out."
Hmmm...Is that you Dr. Phil? Nope. It's Dr. Gil!
Isn't that just precious?
Then Gil returns for one last sentiment: "I pray for your death with every string of my soul."
That is some seriously deep shit. It prays for my death. Prays? Like, to God? Wow! (And to think, I usually just ask for money and stuff...)
Ironically, someone who accuses me of "having nothing meaningful in [my] life," spends its time posting novel length comments on random internet sites. Looking for new clients? Could be.
An interesting tactic, indeed. Maybe even a respectable one. After all, everyone's gotta pay the bills somehow. My hat goes off to you, Dr. Gil.
Now, be a dear and hook me up with some Prozac and some other of your sweet goodies for the mind. I'm in the market for some depression meds. You just ruined me. (Wink, Wink) Woe is me...
*Update: Thomas Westerburg writes, "I can't believe you let Gilmore get to you! And then you post a picture of his mother! That's low."
There's a difference between letting someone get to you and being at a loss for good material. And, I must say, this is definitely good material.
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