First off, I must apologise for the time it’s taken to get back to you with, hopefully, an answer to your problem.
In your short letter, you ask me why can’t you stop crying. I was so moved by the brevity, yet deep, almost profound nature of it, that I was forced to consult several of my esteemed colleagues, each more qualified that the next with regards the help and advice they offered to me.
And the answer is, I’m pleased to tell you, is both universal and unequivocal.
It is because, without any shade of doubt, you’re a soft southern cunt.
Yuz’re nee Northerner, that’s for sure. Nee one North of Watford Junction bar you own Ma standing ower the six foot hole they’re aboot to drop your cold, lifeless corpse into would EVER admit to fuckin’ cryin’. Least of aal in public, especially in a letta. Puff.
Ah divvint knaa what your gender is – and from your letter, ah cannit tell whetha yuz’re a cunt with a cock, or just a plain old fashioned cunt cunt. Either way, like, ah knaa what ah’d recommend like: stop fuckin’ whingin’ and get on with it, for fuck’s sake.
Have you been choppin’ onions? Then fuckin’ well stop, you retard. Have you been sprayed in the face by one of Her Majesty’s Constabulary with CS spray? If so, then you probably did something fully deserving of such treatment.
Regardless of the cause of this optical precipitation, ah’m sorchin’ me deep, black hollow soul for the mearest morsal of igiveafuckitis and…I cannit find nowt. Ah divvint feel sorry for yuz at aal.
The journey to healing oneself can sometimes seem long and lonely. But sharing a problem means your already halfway there to solving it. I do hope you’ve found what I’ve said helpful and supportive. And please…know that I’m always here with more of the same if you need it. Good luck.
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