Illustration by Bob AulI know you've been talking shit about me—I heard that your underage, immigrant, lesbian friend told you what a bitch I am because my roommates and I maliciously plotted to kick you and all your delinquent friends out to the curb.
Sure, it's true. I admit it. We deviously planned to get roomies who (gasp!) actually pay rent!
Remember that one little friend of yours? The one with the girlfriend he moved in without anyone's permission? Never mind that she wasn't supposed to be there—what about her damn cat? Two weeks passed before we noticed feline stank wafting from your room. And your other little friend? The one we all felt so sorry for? The shyster still owes me three and a half months' rent, plus a year of utilities!
Listen, Jughead, when you talk shit about me, it's awfully hard for me not to hear it when we all hang out at the same place. If you're gonna spread rumors, be discreet. Or you could skip the rumors and honor your word. If not, just crawl back into your Goth cave and wait until I serve you and your friends that sweet little court summons. Then you'll see what a bitch I can be.
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