Let's clear a few things up. -

Dear Chris,

Please stop being an almighty cunt. I honestly have no idea why you hate me, I don't talk to you/do anything to you ever. You obviously hate me for some odd reason. So, we have some clearing up to do on those shiddy rumors you spread about me because you secretly love me and can't leave me alone for a second(Or so I think. And at this point it's looking like you do.)

Six months ago during wrestling in first period, I was wrestling some guy(Obviously...) and almost pinned him completely. He started to get out, so I did a forward roll to get back on my feet and attempt to pin him again. As I'm rolling, he throws some kick at me, I lose balance during the roll, land on my arm really weird, and dislocate it horribly. No I wasn't hugging people and making them pissed at me, thus causing them to beat my ass. That was you in seventh grade after you "fell" on that sixth grader and "accidentally" kissed his cheek. After I realize that my arm is pretty screwed up, I do what every other person would do in that situation. Holler for the adult because I sure as hell wasn't getting up to get him. No I didn't cry, no I didn't scream for my mother, and I most certainly didn't hug the gym teacher because I was scared. In fact, I yelled once and sat there wondering how bad I screwed it up. It didn't hurt that bad at all, which it should have because it was far worse than it looked./foreshadowing.

When the paramedics arrived at the scene of my accident, I didn't look to them in my teary eyes and ask if I could talk to my mommy. I asked them how the hell we were going to move me while keeping my arm in a stable position. So, I had to keep my arm stable while they started moving it. Not my dad, nor my mom, nor my sister, me. And I had to tell my group for Lit. that I would be unable to attend our presentation because my arm is exceedingly ****ed up because if I didn't tell them, how would I know they were going to find out in time. After which, the paramedics put me in the ambulence and I had to sit in there keeping my arm stable for a half hour, while answering the questions that they were asking me. I answered every question clearly(At least I remember so, which is kinda funny that you'd know what happened on the ambulence better than me).

After we arrived at the hospital, they put me in a room, where I waited for what seemed like an hour, for the the doctor to come in and help me out. The reason the wait was so long was because there was some type of mix up(Go figure). After a small amount of morphine(And I mean small. A tylenol 3 pill could have done just about the same), I watched the doctor twist my arm around about 110 degrees and relocate it. I didn't scream like a baby, I didn't bawl like nuts, I sat there, clenched my other fist along with me teeth, and squinted with my right eye(Because I still kinda wanted to see how they did this, so I left the left eye open). A split section after they relocated it, I raised my voice(Not yelled, not screamed, just a little bit less than a yell)and said, "Wow, that ****ing hurts." That was it. It was relocated, but at the time they didn't know about the "hairline" fracture that turned out to be a chunk of my elbow. Physical therapy was a bitch, I remember saying that, but I never even thought of crying while doing it. Yes it hurt a hell of a lot more than the original accident, due to abnormal bone growing which was attempting to reinforce the fracture position. And in fact, the physical therapist told me that the pain I was feeling in physical therapy was a huge amount more because of that crappy bone reinforcement.

So there you have it you douche. That was the real story of how I dislocated and fractured my arm, and then went to physical therapy for two months or so. I don't know why people even believed half the shit coming out of your mouth, you weren't even in my gym period in the first place. Then they believed you when you said I cried in the hospital? You were giving your ****ing presentation to the people you told this to, while I was in the hospital. So, since you lurk like an silly cunt and like to talk about me, let's talk about how bad I kicked your ass in the pushup contest today? What was it, me 56, you 23? Yeah, I don't talk shit about anyone, not you, not anyone. However, if you keep pushing me like a little douche, don't think I'll sit back and watch you talk shit about me. I'm seriously tired of your ****ing crap, and I'm going to beat your ass with my half healed shiddy right arm if you keep it up. Oh, and stop putting your "moves" on my friends. They don't like you, and they talk more shit about you than you'd ever think. See ya at school.