You Just Don't 'Get' My Bug Art

This publication is called Pathological Rumination

I enjoy psychopaths and chubby ugly aged autistic men, yes. Autistic women are too kind. I wish psychos were less lean. Solely because I’m insecure about my renaissance era belly, yet, Cannot Will Not Do A Single Sit-up. Cluster B bitches self-diagnose with some disorder less sinister, lie to therapists and refuse to reform behaviourally. They think feelings and impulses in particular mean more than they do and that this makes them inherently deserving of some kind of enlightened sociological leniency. Infinite grace. Inevitably they’ll betray and / or eventually endanger your life. Leave you stranded inner city at midnight to fuck some guy (like their RSA instructor from a gov mandated course to continue receiving benefits) whose actual girlfriend’s name’s the same as your own. Or your sister’s. And your phone’s dead ‘cause she hogged the charger, and there’s no PT this late ‘cause it’s Brisbane City. Chloe, you were fucking sloppy. I watched through the window. “It’S A pEnThoUse.” Socio’s are fun for three months MAX. Vulnerable narcissists too. My worst nightmare is ending up married to a predator just ‘cause he’s the only asshole in a room self-destructive enough to tell the truth about how boring or vapid the others are. Those men always think they’re different than 'the others’ who do the same reprehensible shit they’ve already done. Anyway, you know what happens to women like that? They’ve gotta get a lawyer ugly enough to get the job done while braving troll accusations about how secretly dark they also are at their core (and are, abstractly in some earnestly artistic sense) tears welling when the most generous assessments are ones downplaying their intelligence compared to the monster ex-husband. They’re desperate to argue, but being an idiot’s now their best defence. Mostly I wish psychos were a little less even archetypically aesthetically clean. They’re always sort of repulsed by something and terrified to let you in on some profound joke. It’s boring. Wait, I always forget they’re liars. That’s redeeming. There’s something more suspect about your average people, though. That’s for sure. They’re something worse than boring, and there’s nothing holy about it. I like everybody a lot and am genuinely kind. Unfortunately. I am the observer, totally free of malignant qualities, ofc. Maybe I’m Autistic.