A Letter to the Narcissist – No. 81


Dear Esteemed Swine and Purveyor of Poison:

I know what you are, you worthless bag of filth.  I’m not nearly as stupid as you think I am.   I know you believe you are omniscient, the all-knowing, all-seeing God-Man, A Prince among Princes, King of Time, Space, and Cock of the Walk at hick town country clubs.  You lured me in…yep, I fell for your textbook line of Narcissistic spew.  I fluttered my lids at your compliments and marvelled at all those wonderful things we seemed to share. (“Wow, we have so much in common!”)   I was hypnotized by your claptrap and piffle, even while red flags danced and bells went off in the back of my brain.  The angel on my right shoulder whispered that you were lying and were not what you appeared to be, but Lucifer, firmly lodged on my left shoulder, recognized you as his brother and convinced me you were “the real thing.”  I wince when I think I handed over to you my innate dignity, my self-worth, and my self-respect and let you string me along like a dog-eared puppet.  How dumb could I be?  I served you my pride like a platter of scrambled eggs.  I cringe at my weakness.

You spineless worm.  You vulgar maggot. You’re a jerk, a cad, and a weasel.  You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.

I felt I hit rock bottom when you started the devaluation and depreciation of me, as if I was an old Buick ready to be put up on blocks.  I remember the last day you were in my house…I was wary.  See, even in my ignorant and confused state, I knew, I KNEW something was not quite right and it was pissing me off!  I was guarded and slightly aloof.   While not using outright insults, you fired a few little shots toward my bow that went straight to the heart.  And I let you…I let you talk to me like that IN MY OWN HOME!   IN MY HOME!!  How could I let you do that?  How could I do that to myself? I openly invited you to humiliate me.  But I did not give you one reaction at the time.  I waited until you finally left before I cried.

You puke-drooling beast.  You canker on a sow’s ass.

 I may have cried, but died?  Nope. Uh Uh. I’m still here, you jargon spouting lout, because I decided to relinquish the role of being your victim in order to become a survivor.  You two-bit monster, you ogre, you fungus.  Even before I knew what kind of creature you were, my survival instincts kicked in and I blocked you on my phone. I quit looking at your social media. I avoided you like the plague-infested rat you are.  Have you tried to contact me? I don’t know and I don’t want to know. Not knowing gives me strength, for some perverse reason.  I’ll admit I had a relapse when I saw your vehicle in a place I didn’t expect it to be. (Even though this is my hometown, I have been avoiding every familiar and convenient place that I had been going to for decades just so I would not see you!)  But I fought back. I slogged my way out.   I don’t want to ever see you again.  I don’t want to be within 100,000,000 miles of you.  I don’t want to run into you or see you in a social setting. I don’t want to pass you on the road.  I don’t want to breath the same air molecules as you do.  Your cooties are too toxic.

You are a waste of flesh, ridiculous and obnoxious, the moral equivalent of a leech.  You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void, a disease.

Yet, I do need to thank you for a few things.  Besides discovering what Narcissism is, I made an effort to remain busy and, therefore, keep my mind occupied, I embarked on an intense and advanced Pilates program and a walking regime of 6 miles a day. As a result, I lost 10 pounds, my abs are tight as a drum, and my ass is as rock hard as 18 year old’s.  You will never get your paws on it, though.  I’m saving that for a real man that deserves it. I realize I’m just an appliance, though.  But I am State of the Art compared to you.  I could be the Grand Prize on Let’s Make a Deal.  You are ready for the landfill or a garbage scow. 

 You are deficient in all that lends character.  You are dank and filthy.  You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go, you grimy, squalid troll.

Speaking of looks, let’s turn a critical, unbiased glance at your appearance.  Adonis you may consider yourself to be, but I don’t think Tom Selleck has anything to worry about as far as competition from you is concerned.  In fact, when I first met you, I recall thinking, “Why do all guys in this profession look alike?”  I like to remind myself of how I was NOT bowled over the first day we met.   Seriously, dude, you do know you are bald, don’t you?  I mean, I know it is the badass thing now to shave your head like The Rock, but that doesn’t alter the fact that you have lost your hair and are officially categorized as BALD.  Suck on that, Baldy.  Also, your jawline hints of an incipient slackness that awaits you in the near future.  And that body that you preen so fondly is kind of beefy…you know, the type that will chub out in just a few years.  Your legs are stubby. 

I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You have all the appeal of a leper.  You are vile, worthless, and a ratchet-jawed piddler of no merit.

I’m just pissed off that I didn’t call you out on your grandiose delusions and falsehoods.  I could have pretty easily, you know.  See, dumbass, those ensnared in your insidious trap are capable of using Facebook, also.  Those daughters of yours? In spite of your fables as Father of the Year, clearly they publicly hold you in contempt for what you did to their mother.  Politics and social sciences?  You know nothing, but pretend you are Edward R. Murrow.  One difference, though:  I’m sure Mr. Murrow was literate.  You are a prime example of what Facebook’s function is:  to be what you want people to THINK you are.  The Narcissist’s Paradise.   Oh, yeah, and ex-wife number two?  You know, the one you said was a model?  Well, if she is a model, then I am Gisele Bundchen’s better looking twin.   And that girlfriend of yours…you know, the one you never mentioned?  One would never mistake her for a model, but I refuse to be unkind, because I know the hell she is going through right now, even though your declarations of love for her on Facebook were consistently stomach turning.  You and I both know what you really are, but I’m sure her money, old family name, and multitude of business contacts keeps the fuel a’pumpin’ from her.  Of course, the times I have run into her in person, she has that harried, anxious, and agitated look on her face.  The look that screams, “I LIVE WITH A CONTROL FREAK!”  Well, I hope she’s happy with you being her knuckle-dragging Neanderthal.  Better her than me.  I hope you didn’t “borrow” too much of her inheritance.  There is a word for men who sponge off women, but I am too much of a lady to repeat it.

You smarmy woofter glob.  You asinine gob-kissing, one-handed, slack-jawed, slavering meatslapper.

Speaking of that, you couldn’t kiss your way out of a paper bag.  I was at least expecting you to be good in that particular field of endeavor, but you are a mediocre kisser, at best.  I kept thinking, “C’mon, give me something to work with here!” as I really gave it my all. (I’ve never had any complaints in that dept.) Your fumbling, slimy slobbering made me slightly queasy. I’m glad I told you to back off before I let you cop a good feel.   Thank goodness our “relationship” never got to the point of doing the Wild Thang in the kip.   Your kiss told me all I needed to know about how you might have performed.  And I am not that skilled of an actress to have pretended to be in ecstasy.  Hell, Meryl Streep couldn’t have pulled it off.

May you choke on the bilious, convulsing nausea of your own trite, foolish beliefs.  You are weary, stale, flat, nasty, and profane.  Monkeys look down on you.

This letter crystallizes everything I want to say to you.  But will you ever know my real feelings?  NEVER!  Thank the Lord my own natural sangfroid prevented me from falling all over you, averted me from blowing up your phone, and stopped me from confessing any kind of endearment that would have me turning purple with shame now that you are out of my life.   This letter is for me.  Whenever you slither across my mind like a snake, I will read this letter and remind myself what a pisshead you are.  If anything happens to trigger a memory of your useless self, I will pull out this letter and recall your malevolent personality and malignant charm.  If I ever see your stupid ass EVER again, I will once again peruse this letter and feel relief that I escaped such a foot-licking mass of walking vomit. You will never know what I went through or how I feel about you now.  I will ignore you like as I would a ditch carp and will flick you away like a loathsome gnat buzzing around my face.  Whatever it takes to rid my soul of you, I will do it.  My anger toward you is nothing like the anger I feel at myself.  After all, you are what you are: a half-witted nincompoop, a brazen gimcrack, a bellyaching gasbag full of hokum and moonshine.  However, I am an intelligent woman with loads of delicious fuel for some lucky hunk of man to drown in.  But not you.  This well is dry for you, Snotrag.   This fuel station is closed and has relocated to WokeTown.

Bugger off, you churlish, clack dish clod.  You are the source of all unpleasantness.  You remind me of a cockroach.  You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot.  You snail-skulled little rabbit.  I hope a hawk picks you up and drives its sharp beak into your feeble brain. 

You are less than nothing. Go back to the hell that spawned you.

Me?  I will never give up.



26 thoughts on “A Letter to the Narcissist – No. 81

  1. Dearest HG: This letter shows how charming a Narcissist is. Someone that ended up being called all these names was also the same someone that was able to charm the letter writer. It is ironic. Maybe, I should say, it is mind boggling. The ability of the Narcissist to attach and make the kill is mind boggling. Just like your article, HG, titled: PREY. A must read article that I read tonight. That is the sum of what I am learning from these letters. The more upset the letter, the more charming was the Narcissist. It is a reminder to never underestimate the charming power of a man, once you suspect he is a Narcissist. Find Out! No matter if on day one you actually think of him as someone crawling from a garbage can. At some point you would do practically anything to see that certain smile again from this same garbage can man, if you dare engage. If he is a Narcissist. Why has he not hoovered me, you will weep. Why did he hoover and then ghost me, you will ask. Why does he deal with her and her and even him, you will bewail. And a million other questions regarding the garbage can man. And then you will end up writing letters like this, when you can not bring him to heel and persuade him to carry himself the way you desired, and the way he future faked. And you find out sooner than you wanted, in any case. Poem: Never underestimate. Always resist. Never say, ` I Got This.`

  2. Cindy says:

    It’s a tie between Slavering meatslapper and Bellyaching gasbag. LOL!
    You may be too much of a lady, but not me. The term you’re referring to may be something like, ‘pathetic little parasitic pussy”!
    Good for you for GOSO!
    Have fun showing off your firm butt!

  3. LL says:

    Oh this is spleen-venting at its finest! Wonderfully evocative, comical yet profound. I could clearly picture your sad-sack Narc and oh yes, that description of the slack-jaw, the burgeoning corpulence and stunted growth is all too familiar. I salute you SJS…and never doubt, I will be appropriating some of your imaginative ephitets at the earliest opportunity! 😛

    “You smarmy woofter glob. You asinine gob-kissing, one-handed, slack-jawed, slavering meatslapper.” LOLOL!!!

    1. MB says:

      I’m not sure how I feel about these monsters, HG. I think I saw one with a yellow penis! I’m not naming any names…

      1. Cindy says:

        Help! My monster has a yellow penis. I changed it, but it keeps coming back!

        1. MB says:

          🤣🤣🤣 I wasn’t going to name names. But now that you bring it up, your fly is open Cindy!

          1. Cindy says:

            Lol! I see the ugly monsters are gone. Did you take my penis monster away HG?
            Thanks to the person who did!
            MB, after I read your comment I scrolled thru other comments and I was the only one sporting a yellow pecker! A good laugh was what I needed today.

  4. Kiki says:

    Hi Hg
    What do you think of the Irish Leader Liam Vadaker

    I think he is an Empath and Boris Johnson will eat him alive

    I worry for Ireland


    1. HG Tudor says:

      I have not analysed Liam Vadaker.

      1. Kiki says:

        Oops Leo not Liam typo


    2. Kiki: He better not touch Ashford Castle/hotel.

  5. Kate says:

    Dear SJS,

    Great letter! I love your energy! And your unique style!

    Me, too – I am not giving up,. (uh, message received, “Florida F***face”??)

    Also, I am NOT standing down. (.. and that particular message is for “Medusa”)..

    WHERE do these people come from, anyway? Those names actually fit those people mentioned. You described your person so well, I can imagine such a person. Your letter had me laughing, thank you!

    I hope that we are successful.

    1. Kate says:

      Hi HG,

      I was hoping that you could help me to understand and therefore cope with what is and has been going on.

      My son is over 25, attractive, athletic, educated and mostly a decent person. I am not claiming that he could be a model or win an academic contest. He is (in my opinion) too humble and somewhat shy. He has always been targeted by girls who are definitely not good enough (and dated others who seemed to have been fine). Interestingly, there is a picture from Disney where he was 8, minding his own business while I am taking a picture of him, when an unattractive girl comes along, invades his space and is standing there, staring at him.
      This picture says it all – just another slut.

      Anyway, he is currently choosing to allow “Medusa” to not only look upon him, but touch him and God knows what else (YUCK!!!). I am so repulsed by this that the mere sight of him can be gross to me.

      WHY is he doing this? Why isn’t he embarrassed? Ashamed of himself? Repulsed by her? Why is he allowing this not low-hanging fruit, but fruit that is so rotten that it has fallen to the ground and is smeared into the dirt below to be allowed anywhere near him? What is going on??? I am not a man, so don’t understand this.

      It seems to me that both women and men should want to respect themselves by being with someone who they see as being deserving of them somehow. Also, being with someone that you have respect for. Having a mutual attraction and desire to be together seems necessary, too. I also believe that it is important to share good conversations.

      He is not attracted to her. He has said so. He does not know what color her eyes are (ummm..). She is obese. She is making him eat too much and poorly, as well as somehow he is now not exercising and his once strong, healthy body that he worked so hard for years to achieve is getting soft. This is so offensive to me as I have been looking out for his health since before he was born.

      I am very bothered to see him looking and acting so weak. HOW can he embarrass himself like this? It hurts me to see that he is displaying such a lack of self-respect and knowledge of all that he has to offer. I do not understand why he is being so lazy. Finding the right person takes time and effort. Because I love him, I want to see him happy (it doesn’t matter what she looks like, if he is happy). He is NOT happy. This is torture.

      WHY has he allowed this monstrosity in? She is the devil in female form. That is how “Medusa” appears to me. Just a hideous mouth monster (with fake eyelashes that she seems to believe distract people from noticing the mess below). bleh. Those snakes (Medusa has snakes for hair) are her family, friends and pets who entangle him.

      She is not the first “Medusa” that I have encountered in my life, but she is the first that has come for my son. Anyway, I know who she is.

      Why doesn’t he just f***ing kill her off already???

      1. HG Tudor says:

        This is a detailed matter Kate and is best addressed through consultation.

        1. Kate says:

          Thanks, HG.

          I am not going to waste time and money on this issue for a consultation with you.

          My son is a grown man. I believe that I have done more than my fair share of looking out for him. If he chooses not to use all that has been given to him, that is on him.

          Anyway, this beast will not lay eyes on me again. Everyone knows this, including my sister who tried to force this thing upon me. Good – two birds with one stone.

          My son has made no secret that he never intends to marry or have children, so if her goal is to be his wife (which I think has been her “plan”), she will find him to be an immovable force.

          Suck on that, “Medusa”!

    2. Kate says:

      Hi HG,

      I think that I should give my reasons for why “Medusa” is held in such low regard by me. My evidence includes:

      1. The first time that I met her, she was dressed in spandex pants, and her breasts hanging out of a shirt that kept moving around. My son sat next to me on a small sofa meant for two people, but she squeezed herself up against him to my left and kept rubbing his thigh while he was seated between us.

      2. The next time that I saw her was on Christmas Day. It was a surprise to me. I have no idea how she ended up here on that day. She signed my son’s Christmas card to me (not kidding). As he opened his gifts, she again moved herself as close as she could to him and rubbed at his thigh as he opened his gifts from me.

      3. The third and final time that I have subjected myself to her presence was when she appeared again in our home and I gave her another shot. I went out of my way to be nice to her, then when she either didn’t know or care if my back was turned, she flung her body onto his as he was sitting or lying on the sofa, watching TV.

      I felt that her behavior was not just disrespectful to me, but to my son. He is not a piece of meat. Keep your hands to yourself, “Medussa” – all of you! These sorts of women are to be avoided. Women should want their men be strong. If not, then she is a “Medusa”. IMO – in my opinion.

      Three strikes, she’s out.

      1. Kate says:

        “Medussa” is a succubus (a female evil mouth monster).

        “Florida F***face” is an incubus (an evil male mouth monster).

        Of course, they use all of their parts, not just that hideous mouth to drain people.

        I want to see my young man holding that monster’s head by her snake hair, high above his head victoriously, as in the Greek mythological story!!!

        Thank you for giving my rant your time!

        1. Kate says:

          These “people” should “go back where they came from”.

  6. foolme1time says:


    Garlic in your soul. I love it!

    1. KellyD says:

      FM1T, sounds about right! Lol

    2. Joanne says:

      And the graphic fits 🤣🤣

      1. foolme1time says:

        Joanne you told a funny! 🤣🤣🤣

  7. KellyD says:

    Superlative! I thoroughly enjoyed this letter. I felt her energy, I even laughed at times. Her writing reminded me of the dr Seuss song, You’re a Mean One, Mr Grinch

    [Verse 2]
    You’re a monster, Mr. Grinch
    Your heart’s an empty hole
    Your brain is full of spiders, you’ve got garlic in your soul, Mr. Grinch
    I wouldn’t touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!

    Thank you for sharing!

  8. Joanne says:

    Relocated to WokeTown!! Go tell ‘em!! You are both strong and smart AF. This letter was brilliance 🙌🏼

  9. susisorglos66 says:

    Fantastic !!! I couldn’t say it better !! And I agree 💯 !!!!

  10. Abe Moline says:

    Many words here I’d never find on Duolingo…
    Nice read and a good English lesson!


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