I think I met Bunny a long, long time ago. Like back when MTV had music and Pauly Shore had a career. She said Hi and told me she lived in California. I wasn't feeling particularly hostile that day so I talked to her. Then me, being the idiot I was, put her on my buddy list. After our first conversation, she didn't sign on for a long time, so eventually I decided to take her off of it. Then months later, she IMs me with some crappy attempt at communication. Something like "HELOL HWO R U?" I think I blocked her. Then later, we had our first documented conversation. The others later followed and she's continued to talk to me since then. 
She's apparently from California, home of the three P's: Prostitutes, Pride marches, and Pornography filmed in basements. And she cheerleads. This is my theory on the school-related girls' dancing groups. First, there's poms. Poms is the elite group of future pole dancers that shake their beautifully tight asses to booty music. The girls that don't make poms try out for cheerleading. Cheerleading isn't as talentful because most bimbos can scream and throw other bimbos around. Some cheerleaders may so, "Oh, we put so much time into cheerleading! Hours are spent every day so we do our routines perfectly." Do you know why they do it for hours? Well, there's two possibilities. One is that they suck too much to learn it at the blazing speed that most mentally handicapped people can learn. The other is that they love doing the same thing repeatedly. Much like the cat that always pees in the laundry bin. Why do they do something so pointless? Because they have nothing better to do once they've thorougly licked their backs clean. That analogy holds up for both the cats and cheerleaders. The girls that don't make cheerleading go into Color Guard. Color Guard is indeed a grim thing. If all the rejected playthings from the Land of Misfit Toys carried flags, this is what they'd turn into. This group of women twirls around poles with fabric glued to the end of them while the marching band plays their music and gets ignored during halftime. So this means that Bunny is slightly better than a flag-toting bitch but nowhere near as good as a member of poms. But the fact that she's a teenage girl makes her stupid. Was that last sentence sexist? Probably. But is it not realistic? Come on, people, I think we can all agree on the idea that teenage girls have the depth of a kiddie pool and the intelligence of something sold at PetSmart. Of course, there are always exceptions, but they're rare. That's why they're called exceptions in the first place. But as a whole, teenage women are grudge-holding beasts of ignorance. They show this by gossipping about each other and describing everything as "cute". "Oh, those shoes are cute. That football player is cute, too. Puppies are soooooo cute! Ya know when that crippled kid fell down the stairs? That was cute, too." Great. Pets, guys, and accessories all described with the same word. Really great use of the English language, ladies. At least guys have the decency to vary their usage of the words "sweet", "cool", and "phat" (Note that different guys use different multiple-purpose words like "cool" such as "dope" and "really fuckin' cool"). And that is why women are, for the most part, too cute for their own good. Sweet. The people who have AIM profiles usually use them to say something. This is what Bunny has written in hers: 
Great. She wastes the time of anyone reading her profile by sending out the personal message to a guy named Josh. For all I know Josh could be me. It's not like people have thought I was someone else before. And I know I've been an asshole to her before. Why was I an asshole? Because she's such an idiot. And even if I'm not Josh, the real Josh probably realized that she types like a drunken Michael J. Fox and that she only asks lame questions like "WHTAS UP?/". Bunny is a piece of shit. Enough said. So what have we learned in this deep analysis of that idiot? She's not smart, not interesting, not from MI, and certainly not worth my time. So as far as I'm concerned she can masturbate with a chainsaw. And, just so you people know, I sometimes talk to her. If I do, you'll probably read the conversations, so for the love of god stop asking me if I she still talks to me. So remember back to when your father tossed your adult puppy out of the van window? Be thankful he backed up and ran it over*. *If you can't remember back to when your dad got you the dog and threw it out the window if your van, trust me, it happened. Your parents have pictures of it. Please don't ever expect me to make sense. So, just to make sure I made my case clear and you people stop asking me inbred questions, just know that I have no fucking idea who Bunny is. Stop asking. I hate you all. Now have a deliciously splendid day, shitheads. 
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