Bigger Than Christmas

I am a domme, a mistress, a princess, a goddess. One of the reasons I excel at each one of these titles is because I am selfish. I was raised to feel special and have developed a sense of entitlement that precedes most other sentiments. During times in my life where I am even slightly sacrificing, making even a slight effort, these feelings of selfish entitlement are heightened that much more so.

As of now I am on full, all-out bitch mode. I entered in a fitness competition and I brought this on myself. I knew it would be a challenge and I’ve accepted the struggles, the sacrifices. But now I’m two weeks out. Now I want to rip your face off and mercilessly kick you repeatedly all over your body. I don’t remember the last time I ate something that I actually wanted to eat. I go days where I eat nothing but chicken and egg whites. I drink 2 gallons of water a day. I do 2 work outs every day, etc, etc, et mother fucking cetera. Sure, I only have 2 weeks left. Sure, the transformation in my body has been tremendous. Sure, there are people starving in this world who dream of eating chicken/ people dehydrated who dream of drinking any amount of water. And as sure as all of those things, I will mother fucking end you if you bring up another “let’s look at the bright side” of this half-full cup of water that I have to drink.

My point is, all of you mother fucking whores who claim you love me, worship me, lust for me, care for me had better get your shit together and buy me a bunch of gifts in the next two weeks because this shit I’m doing deserves more than your regularly-scheduled tribute. This shit is bigger than my birthday. It’s bigger than Valentine’s Day. It’s bigger than Christmas. I expect you tripping over yourself to buy me as many congratulations gifts as you possibly can.

Tyranical rant of bratty privilege done. For now.

Buy me gifts and fuck off.