I don’t need anything from you, friend. Everything you see here, I did it all myself. No one ever helped me, buddy. Do you see that tree stump? I planted that tree before I cut it down with my own two hands. As a matter of fact, Jack, I seeded the grass in this yard by creating my own wind with my own breath power. I single-handedly created and revolutionized environmentalism, you half caff latte sipping cuddle bunny. I trim the grass myself using a lawn mower that I invented because I needed a use for this combustion engine that I developed. My machinery is powered with gasoline that I refine myself by swishing crude oil around in my mouth for a series of hours. I invented time. I pump that oil out of the ground using my own bicep muscles, or as I call them, my pumpjacks. By pumping my own oil and refining my own gasoline I also single-handedly destroyed the environmentalism movement that I created myself, because I despise godless socialist hippies who lack the gumption to fatally shoot pacifists committing acts of civil disobedience. I hate love.
The only relationship I have is with me and I have recently taken myself as a wife. I cut down that tree that I told you about earlier and built the church where I performed my own ceremony after ordaining myself as a minister in the religion I founded, you worthless welfare baby dependent on the teat of government. It was a beautiful service and we are very happy. We’ve been trying to have a baby. As a child I once cut my own switch and flogged myself for sharing my toys with other children. Do you see this scar that stretches from my belly button to my sternum? I performed my own open heart surgery by spreading my rib cage open with my fingertips and replacing my arteries with rubber tubes that I fashioned myself with leftover oil from my mouth refinery. Oil has many uses.
Now get off my lawn before I go back inside the house I built myself and return with some shotgun shells that I loaded myself. I invented gunpowder. I punch the firing pin on the shotgun shells with my fist and they always explode causing maximum casualties. I wrote the Second Amendment to the United States Constitution with a pen held in my bullet shooting hands, you emotionally stunted elitist trust funder who needs Daddy’s validation after making a mountain of mashed potatoes on your vintage 1970s Star Wars plate because you got a Doctorate in medieval studies and have to live at home until your parents die. I don’t need anything from you.
Drinkers with Writing Problems 