boo-hoo, bitch. 🙂
No, I didn’t “ask his permission” to blog about the fact that he’s a compulsive hoarder, or the fact that his dad had to sue him, for him to get his shit together enough to get all of his E-garbage out of his dad’s garage/basement.
I didn’t “ask his permission” to to mention the fact that he thought it would be “funny” to screw canned goods to the floor of my room up at college, or steal all of my light-bulbs — or tamper with my room door, so that the door-knob came off in my hand when I tried to open it (effectively imprisoning me in my own room.
Then again, why the fuck should I have “asked his permission” to do any of that?
If some anonymous asshole attempted to run me over in the parking-lot at a super-market, I’m not going to engage in self-censorship merely because I was unable to “ask permission” to blog about that occurence.
Besides, Karl routinely name-drops other, and mentions their assorted antics during our conversations, nearly every time he calls me to whine about his shitty, failure-based “lifestyle” (from the laundromat, or whichever parking-lot he happens to be loitering at any particular point in time.)
So, no: I’m not “asking permission” for jack shirt.
Karl (or anybody else) doesn’t like it?
They can feel free to ask permission to EAT SHIT AND DIE.