I’m not going to blame you, but if i did it would go something like —

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It was horrible.
I knew it would be.
I’m not blaming you, but I did mention to you last Thursday…
Ugh.
Forget it.
How bad?
How bad was it really?
Grown men were laughing at me.
Have you been laughed at recently?
Not fall when you’re three, or spill milk when you’re four, or parents put you in shoes that are too big at five…
Have you had people laugh?
When a grown man laughs at you, and you’re not laughing — shit gets fucked up.
You should not be laughing at a grown man, if he’s not laughing, unless you’re in hell. Unless the sky has opened, and demons dressed like dragon Nazi’s are fucking mermaids. You know?
Can you get that?
I struck out in softball.
(Then you don’t get me.)
That doesn’t happen. You don’t strike out in softball, you get walked, you pop out, ground out, you die from a heart attack — you don’t swing and miss an underhand slow pitched softball. And everyone was drinking.
I was the only one not drinking, and I struck out.
If I could move towns, that’s what I would do;
I just got off line, I was looking at cruise’s.
Can I go on a cruise now?
No. Course not.
Do I even like the idea of being stuck on a boat?
Not normally. But right now — yeah.
Stuck on a boat with a bunch of people who haven’t seen me strike out playing softball sounds really good.
And fuck it — yes. it’s all because you weren’t there.
I told you. I told you how important this was to me. You fucking blew it. I’m so mad. I could strike you out.
I could strike you out in softball, and get everyone to piss on you. Everyone would just piss on fruit and throw it at you.
You’re childish.
You break promises.

Anyway, I’m free next Friday cause I think I was kicked off the team.

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