Sweet Dreams Are Made of These- Chapter 2

Hey there, Ice Queen! I heard your fiance scored a home run with that delectable Swedish heiress, and that you had a big fall out with the man. So...you must be single, and available now, aren't you? What do you say? Get it on, with me, my place, Friday night, sweet pea?

Go to hell, Dermott! If by now you still hadn't the slightest clue why you're the only one here who can't get laid weekend after weekend, let me enlighten you. You are an incorrigible narcissistic jerk who still depends on his widowed mother for an allowance to buy drinks for the ladies at the club, can't even come up with a good enough excuse to do so anyway, and last the world heard, your little soldier ain't that all working. The word "loser" is plastered all over your face buddy. Go get a life!

Who told you that?! That bitch Margaret! Just because I don't want to see her anymore she's making up all these stories about me! Damn her!

No, Dermott. You're the one who's damned. And no, you didn't dump her. She dumped you, because you just aren't good enough for her. Face it, you're doomed to be all by yourself, at least until you're old and dying, then maybe some nice soul might take pity on you and call for help when you lie almost cold on the sidewalks while trying to get cigarettes from the stores.

Fuck you!

Goodbye Dermott. I hear Loserville calling out to you. Off you go, sweetpea. Oh, and Dermott, Thursday's ladies' night. We don't pay for our drinks.