Dear uncaring misfits:
Peering out at the alligator-infested cesspool of murky darkness below only serves as affirmation that it's time to end it all before another reincarnation of the iPhone that I can't afford.
The prospect of a shiny penny and an orange in the bottom of a tattered Christmas stocking only strengthens my resolve to jump. Because, you see, my friends will be pouring champagne on Christmas as they open bright-red gift boxes packed with piles of tissue paper and expensive trinkets, while my own dream of packing my middle-class home with costly material goods remains unfulfilled. So I leave you to ponder the items that drove me to this bitter crossroads.
Well, that's it for me. Cuddle up with Satan's belongings and sleep well on your master-crafted bed of orgasms.
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