"Look Stewart, it's not that you're unintelligent, in fact I think you could be a genius. It's not that you've got acne. It's not that your ass is hairier than my dog's back. It's not that you snore, or talk too much, or don't listen enough. It's not your messy mop-top, or weird fashion sense. It's not the fact that you don't have a job. It's not the smell of your breath, or your feet, or your balls. It's not that you drink too much, or smoke too much, or exercise too little. It's not that you don't love me, because I know you do. It's simply the fact that I want to believe in you, but that you don't fucking believe in yourself. Cliche as it may sound, that's the reason this is over. I'm not your mother, so you can't expect me to play cheerleader twenty-four-seven, eh? But you know what? You can call me once you've at least developed some semblance of an ego, alright hun? Oh, and an herbal regiment or enhancement drug might be considered added incentive, or at least couldn't hurt, not to give you a hint or anything...bye darlin', and good luck with your movie!"


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