Dear Diana, for I refuse to call you by your other name,
You bitch. You fucking incurably insufferable, ungrateful skanky cuntface bitch. There are an insufficient amount of adjectives in this world to describe the propensity of how big of a whorey bitchface you are. What branch on our family tree did you hit going down that made you such a detestable human being? You disgust me like so few people do.
The irony of this letter is that I was not planning on devoting any time to your unendurable ass. Except that I thought of you on my way to work and remembered what you did all those years ago. And what you still do. And then, THEN! I get to work and find out someone told my boss last week that I closed shop early. That apparently the cases were covered and the lights were out at 6:25, and we both know that’s a fucking lie, you sneaky bitch. And we both know you were manager that night and you’re the only git in that place that would give two rats asses about what time I cover the cases and turn the lights out.
Aaah, but maybe we should visit instances from way back when. All the way back in the motherland, when you’d pretend you didn’t see my father in the center of the city and keep on walking like you were not a blood relation. But that’s nothing to the absolute piggery you showcased when we all helped you and your idiot husband come to this country.
I will never understand how anyone can be so incredibly ungrateful as you have been. If my relatives filed paperwork on my behalf to get me to this country, helped establish me with a car, a place to live (AND EVEN PAID FOR RENT!), legal paperwork, and other related things, I would never, ever put my snooty nose in the air and turn the other cheek without saying one goddamn thank you. And I certainly would not dare to tattle-tale on the family’s most beloved grand-daughter, and that’s not just the narcissism speaking. I hope you’re unprepared for the shit storm that’s about to make it’s shitty way to you, you fucking cunt.
You do not deserve the position you are in. You would not have been there were it not for my mom and I cannot believe you have the nerve, the motherfucking audacity, to treat my mother the way you do. I can, however, believe that you continue to avoid the jewelry counter on days that I work. I hope that means you’re ashamed of your deplorable behaviour, but I’m pretty sure it means you’d rather just not make eye contact with me because you know you’re the world’s biggest fucking bitch and you’re afraid word’s gonna get around the familial circle.
And you know what? You’re right. Shit’s about to go down. This will be the first and last time you ever mess with me, because apparently blood runs thinner than water to you.
Your unfortunately blood-related cousin who’s about to make your life a little harder.