Dear Stomach,
F*** you. Who the hell do you think you are? Stomach. Answer me! Stop that incessant growling and use your words. You've been hanging around far too long and causing nothing but pain. You're either empty or full, but either way you're b***hing. I see why people try to tie you up. You're a f***ing douche. A douche bag to be more exact. I realize you don't have much control over what people put into you, but you do have control over what you do with it. You should just let it go, but you choose to hold on to way too much. They say life is 20% what happens to you and 80% how you react. I'm sure I'm not the first to tell you that you over f***ing react. You get all stretched out and bent out of shape over the dumbest little things. Have some intestinal fortitude. Man the f*** up and act like you have some guts. At the core, you're an essential part of our being. Hopefully a small part, but a part nonetheless. But you want to play far too big a part. I'd much rather you be a six pack, but in my life you've been a damn keg. You're a couple cans short of a six pack if you know what I mean. You don't know? Exactly my point. Currently I figure I've gotten you down to a party ball. But the party is over for you. You f***ed that all up. You got greedy. You got too full of yourself and you became big enough to pop up on my radar. Now I'm getting my vendetta on against you. I'm gonna drop you so fast, you'll think my name is gravity. I hate you and what you do to people. Now stop being lazy. Sit up and go the f*** away. Hasta la vista, baby. But don't get all comfortable and try to show up again because, I'll be back. I can't say the same for you.
PS. It's not a tumor!
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