Note: Some fun little humorous ranting made to spoof the general break-up fic. Immature, yes, but fun. So, so fun. (And because Muffy can't angst all the time when she winds up with a suckish guy, and I can only write fluffy and dark oneshots for so long.)

And happy birthdays to Kuruk and Ekoaleko, both which I'm late for. I decided to merge my ideas for you two and…I think you'll like it. I love you guys amazingly and incredibly and ridiculously much. :)

Disclaimer: I'm not even gonna bother, guys.

So Frickin' What?

Screw this.

Screw my pretty make-up and the hours I spend on it each day; screw the hair gel, the perfume, manicures, the pedicures, the whole frickin' enchilada. For all I care, I could go out in a paper bag and discounted flip-flops—and yes, I know it's the middle of winter. I'm not an idiot. God.

I guess you shouldn't care about any of it, should you? Course not. You never did before. I could chop off all my hair, and you'd just be like, "Oh, Muffy's gone psycho, okay." You know what, maybe I have. A girl can only take so much crap. You, my friend, have broken the final straw.

Remember when we danced at that festival? Hey, if you don't, I do. Thanks for stepping on my feet five billion times. That's one way to break in my new Jimmy Choos. Some food for thought: if I'd stepped on you in these heels? You'd be bleeding. FYI.

Are you done listening? Too bad, 'cause I'm only getting started.

Let's take a little trip down memory lane to our first date. Good times, good times. I love me a good graveyard walk. Midnight, Halloween, scary people in masks with chainsaws—ah, those were the days! So glad I got fake blood on my couture. And speaking of pants, didn't you wet yours?

Then came the camping trip. Yay mud. "Let's go fishing!" you said. "I can't swim!" I said. "Oh, crap, you're drowning!" you screamed when, after you shoved me into the ocean, I proved my point. Smooth. Lucky I hate lawyers, or you would've been S-U-E-D. This is America—it's like the national law or something.

Of course you made up for everything. You cooked me all that food one time, all my favorites, stacked to make up for you ditching me on the boat last summer vacation (Good job, getting lost during a bathroom break. Not many people can say that, you know. Kudos). I really appreciated it, even when I choked on the stuff and nearly died. Hey, love is an exciting adventure! What's a little ER visit between friends?

Oh, baby, I'm not done. Do you want me to be done? Sorry, I don't listen to you anymore.

Our first kiss was just about the highlight of our relationship. I can honestly say I'd never kissed a guy with onion and mustard on his breath before I met you. Exotic, that. Does every girl vomit when you do that, or am I just lucky?

It was sweet of you to offer to drive me into the city for a shopping spree, but I gotta be honest: baby, you can't drive worth crap. This was proven by your inability to park the blasted thing without eating into another parking space, or merge in traffic without losing years off my life, as well as your fascination with colorful language aimed at little old ladies in Beatles. Then again, you didn't have to rent the expensive Hummer and cut a giant hole in the ozone layer, either. Just sayin'.

Oh, oh! And the best part! This is my favorite, so please hold off the applause until I'm done. That day you told me you loved me? That you handed me the blue feather and said how I was the only girl for you and you loved me and you batted those big blue eyes my way?

You were serious.

Jack, I used to tell you stories about my disastrous escapades into dating. I'm sure you remember the guy who dumped me for a seventeen year old, the criminal, the gay guy, the reverend (don't ask), the scam-artist…God, I have been a very, very busy woman, haven't I?

Anyway, out of all of them, you were the worst. Again, kudos. That's a tough feat, so be proud! You'll get a coupon in the mail from me for that prestigious achievement. I hope you choke on the fun fries—they taste like cardboard.

See, I'm tired of crying over guys. More specifically, I'm tired of crying over scum. When they break up with me, the world shakes and my heart just goes ker-sploo. Like a frog in the microwave. But when I break-up with them? I feel so frickin' guilty that I cry even more, because grown men's hearts should not be going ker-sploo—it's wrong on so many levels.

Hey, I didn't set off that microwave. You set the timer yourself. And it just went tickticktick until finally I couldn't do this anymore and I aimed my stiletto at your head. Which missed. Darn. You honestly think I want to spend the rest of my life Mrs. Jack Studmuffin Jerk Face? You think sneezing on a girl during a proposal is classy? That not bathing for months is hot? That getting married just before declaring bankruptcy is frickin' brilliant?

People call me desperate, Jack. But screw them, because they've obviously never met you, and I'm freakin' tired of men and dating and love and onion breath and drowning and rickety Hummers and idiots and especially you.

I wasn't going to say anything. I was going to bottle it up inside, and I honestly expected to cry and feel awful and boo-hoo and emo my face off. But I am not sad, just ticked off in every possible way, and as long as I've got heels handy, you better stay fifty feet away from me at any given time.

Back off. Because it's Valentine's Day, and my friends and I are going shopping—where no stupid guys are going to tell us we look frickin' fat in the low-cut cute pink dress I've envied for months—and damn it, I have better things to do.

Now if anyone doesn't mind, I'd like some chocolate and a year of my life back. But chocolate is preferred.


End Note: Because Muffy can't angst all the time over a guy, and I wanted to unleash my inner beotch, just for a moment. Whatever, I had a blast writing this, so maybe you'll like it, too. Or maybe you won't. How am I supposed to know, guys?

Hope you loved it, my ESKers. You guys rock my socks and my shoes and my…well, you get the idea. xD