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and Damned Proud of it!

I will admit, in candor, that I have not always voluntarily assumed the mantle of bitchiness. I have always had it thrust upon me, as I choose, consistently, to live my life in a manner inconsistent with the behaviour patterns of a doormat.

Finally came the revelation: the right to be irritated by the idiocy of those around me, and to express that irritation fully, volubly, and with devastating precision, was mine for the seizing.

I seized it.

I studied, and embraced, a measure of contemporary feminism. I learnt some of the history of my sex. I ceased to accept the shit of others.

Truly, I felt, I had found the first step in my own personal enlightenment. The journey continued, leading here: to this place, this form, where I make use of a profound lack of sleep to wax quite eloquent, and attempt to construct a portrait of my bitchy qualities without using the phrase "stump-dumb fuckwits" to describe those who surround me, and enhance my will to bitch. My bitchiness stems not from such cheesenuts. My bitchiness flows from within.

Yes! I want to read more from Real Life Heartless Bitches

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