Fuck the Carters. Fuck your whiny voices; you, the know-it-all talk-fast before others can contribute, because guess what you don't need two sides to a conversation, you know everything already. The other: a whiner who gets worse with every glass, stupid asshole sending me an accidental email filled with hateful words about my best friend, a person she never met. Terrible names—oops, how embarrassing, how humiliating, GOOD, you made that bed.
The worst manners, the ugliest mouth, the biggest waste—no contributions; no creativity. Nothing but Carter.
Fuck the Carters and their insecurities. Guess what, you have to fucking make something, give something, be good, and love, to be in my home.
Fuck the Carters and their presence at His funeral, "we're very touched by all the friends coming together." Fuck you Carters! Like it's entertainment to observe a handful of people with broken bleeding hearts spilling over their dead friend like some reality show that just scored a "natural" shot.
"Close friends only," you fucking Carters. Fuck you Carters, you talked shit about our friend who died, you talked down to our lovely man who died, you piece of utter living shits, Carters. You positioned him to be humiliated and suffer relentlessly, burning his one last bit of sanity he had left, and you squashed it, and in a public forum. You betrayed your friend who GAVE you his time and GAVE you his gift, you fucking Carters. Telling him you were on his team, yet inviting the opposition with no warning. Salt in his biggest wound, you fucking Carters. You rubbed it in.
I'll never forgive you. I was there. I saw him crack and bleed. I held his tears.
Guess what, I hate you. "Ohhh!" Folks say, "don't say 'hate'." Well guess what, "HATE." "It'll only hurt you," Folks say. I don't think so, I think it's the truth, "Hate."
Liars, you Carters, fucking posers, Carters. Stupid lady saying horrible things of our other friend, our buddy, our dear Hollywood girl. Fuck you stupid Carters saying those things, then turning only a sweet cheek Her way. Our sweet Hollywood girl doesn't know what that fucking Carter said and I want to tell her so she can stop giving her loving heart to a two-faced liar, a despicable person who spoke openly and grotesquely about our dead friend, and her too. The best of them.
My wish is for you Carters to disappear. Poof, like smoke, like toxic black smoke, just POOF and gone. Drink the water at the Chevron Refinery; take a left at that exit please.
Stop with the time suck, the phoniness, the know-it-alls, you boring fascist fucking Carters.
Fuck you Carters and your stupid Tevas all year 'round; you clowns with your yoga pants on a 50-year-old shrunken oblong ass. Fuck you Carters and your betrayal, fuck you Carters, you rubber-necking heartless fools, you fucks, fuck you.
It's ok to say "Hate" when that is the name, the very core of the situation of the subject of the fucking Carters.
Ok, now I feel better. Wait, wait...wait, there's more.
FUCK YOU CARTERS.