Screw you, number 2.

'Scuze me, number 2 from Roseworthy.

I don't know your name, and I don't particularly care either.

I'll just call you number two.

Now, I know you thought you were top sh*t yesterday. I know you thought you were better then us. But really, that's no reason for you to go and kick Bec H in the ankle. It wasn't her shin and you damn well know it, and that doesn't make it any better anyway.

I hope you're happy that she's a little cripple now who can't put any weight on her foot.

And, I know you were getting pissed because I was stopping most of your shots, but when your team has won the corner, that's no reason for you to shove me straight into the post. I mean really.

I hope you're happy that I've had to leave work because I can barely move, my back is that bad.

Shooting pain from my neck down to my lower back, following my spine. I can't walk, I can't lift, I can't bend, I can't sit, I can't turn from side to side, I can't f*cking do anything.

I hope you're happy that you've cost me at least a day's pay.

So... dear number 2.

Up yours, you bitch.

This really f*cking hurts though, like, so bad that I was sent home from work because I was actually crying from the pain of moving.

April 4th, 2011 at 06:16am