You suck.

You clog up my computer functions when I am trying to look at a picture of a co-ed getting rammed up the ass by a gazelle. Alternately, you want me to invest in some casino so I can throw my money down some empty whole, like so many ladies' cosmetic rejuvenation products, or the souls of self effacing Catholics into purgatory.

Out of spite I never click on you. I would not click on you if you advertised for a free Off Our Backs concubine. I would not click on you if some higher being created a pop-up ad revealing to me the meaning of life. I would prefer to be stuck trying to get George W Bush to think outside the box (or to think at all, really) for all eternity than to click on you. I would rather watch endless plotless dialogue from misogynist het porn with all of the fucking cut out and sleep on a bed of nails and eat knives than give you the time of day.

Your meaningless-ness is a quick fix antidote to existential crisis. So there.

Disrespectfully,

Jane Torpedo