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Someone contacts you and says they're a journalist and want to do a story about an unpleasant experience you've had. You say OK. He asks if it's alright to record the conversations. No problem, you say. You don't look the guy up, you just start pouring your heart out to him. You ask him how long the piece is going to be. He tells you 8500 words, or about 17 pages. You say cool. You yammer away to him for almost three hours over several weeks before thinking, for the first time, maybe I should check out if this guy is who he says he is.
When you find out he probably isn't he calls back and calls you a fat faggot with bitch tits. You hang up in womanly shock before composing yourself and calling him back. He says it again. You tell him you already figured it out. Chuckling with disbelief at the softball he asks whether you mean you figured out that you're a fat faggot with bitch tits. You stay on the phone for almost half an hour, telling him not to talk and claiming that you knew he was bogus all along, all while sounding like a homosexual psycho from a post-Silence of the Lambs shitty 90s serial killer movie.
I don't think anyone actually exists who would be that dumb and nuts, right?
When you find out he probably isn't he calls back and calls you a fat faggot with bitch tits. You hang up in womanly shock before composing yourself and calling him back. He says it again. You tell him you already figured it out. Chuckling with disbelief at the softball he asks whether you mean you figured out that you're a fat faggot with bitch tits. You stay on the phone for almost half an hour, telling him not to talk and claiming that you knew he was bogus all along, all while sounding like a homosexual psycho from a post-Silence of the Lambs shitty 90s serial killer movie.
I don't think anyone actually exists who would be that dumb and nuts, right?
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