It’s simple really. Stupidly simple. They do not make you happy. They make you nervous and anxious. You leave them hoping you leave a good impression. (You leave them forgetting what’s good.)
It’s sad really. Humorously sad. They do not know you. They tell you who you are. They make you feel like a clawing cat. (And you hate cats.)
It’s pathetic really. Tragically pathetic. They do not play kind. They play funny. They play and they play and you play along. You play and play until it’s not fun anymore. (It never really was)
It’s true really. Ridiculously true.
Nice boys finish last. Dickead’s rule the world. (And what’s worse….. It’s our fault.)