Another married bastard

I had an overwhelming sense of ickiness.

But I wasn't sure if I should listen to the voice in my head or tell it to calm the fuck down and stop being such a paranoid android.

Always listen to the voice. It's savvy paranoia.

So for weeks this nagging feeling in my gut kept prodding at me.
Something's not right with this picture.
There's something inky going on.
What to do. What. To. Do.

I'm not good at cutting people out.
I want to believe the best even if that means choosing to ignore the fact they're holding a gun in my face.
I'm sure there's a logical explanation for their behavior, I'll reassure myself.
And marvel with genuine surprise over the blood dripping from my head.

I like attention.
I like pushing people's buttons.
I like inciting a reaction, a laugh, an ohmygawd did she really just do that?
But not from everyone.
Some attention I dislike.
'Tis a fine line between a fan and a stalker.

A woman can only handle so many stalkers....

So this kid from my past, let's call him Lenny, had been blowing up my Facebook as of late.
Most of the time when people like or comment on your status' it makes you feel loved.
But Lenny's comments were beginning to make me uncomfortable and question why he suddenly felt the need to comment on EVERYTHING I posted.

Didn't he have a wife he could talk to?

And Lenny and I used to work together a million moons ago (Yes, it was at Starbucks, who once again is responsible for my love/stalker life) and he had a thing for me then but some flames are not reciprocated.
Some are met with icy indifference.
But I guess some flames burn a hell of a lot longer than others.
And I was getting the sinking suspicion that I gave Lenny the big pants.
Lucky me.

So one day, reaching the end of my tolerance rope, it now fraying after incessant inappropriate comments, I wrote a status in hopes of getting my message across.

To whom it may concern, I don't want to DO you so kindly fuck off. I'd do your wife before I'd do you. And no, you couldn't watch.

Now, I thought, if the lewd harassment is all in my crazy lil' head then it will be a moot status and merely prompt a few snickers from my fans (not stalkers).
But to my horror (who ever wants to be right about these things?) Lenny commented on it almost immediately.

Good thing cuz I don't want to do you either.

Holystalkingschizo.
I wasn't a paranoid android.
The fucker did have his married eye on me.
And me calling him out on it bent his needle dick out of shape.

I promptly unfriended the fucktard and he sent me three messages.

Did you hear that?  That was the sound of my skin crawling across the floor.

Shudder.

One even read MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!  YOU DELETED ME!  AHAHAHAHAHA!

Wow.
Really?
I'm sorry, but REALLY?

Passive aggressive never looked so damn frightening.

If it had been anyone else I would have just written it off as being another random douchefuck.
But this kid used to be my friend, he's friends with my friends, he goes to church every damn Sunday.
Cough. Of course he does.

It felt extra gross coming from a former fellow Starbucks Barista.
But hey, at least it'll make another swell chapter in my book.

Geez, Lenny.
Lay off the goddamn tequila.
And lay off the Resa.

Any guy who loves Eraserhead is definitely too demented to be my Facebook friend.
Tell the wife I said HI.