I hate Kim Smith. I hate her guts. On the day she set a record on American soil for the half, I got fired from my job at Foot Locker because I lost my name tag. There is a God, and he hates my guts. But he loves Kim Smith which is why I hate her.
Kim will undoubtedly do very well at the Boston Marathon. Meanwhile, I failed to qualify AGAIN for that race. At the end of my qualifier, I hid in a port-o-shitter and cried like a little bitch when I didn't make the cut. Then, some punk ass kids tipped it over with me in it.
But I have hope. Perhaps Kim will implode on race day or get outkicked by Tegla Lapouper from Kenyopia. Then, I can gloat because her failure will help me forget having to comb toilet paper and corn from my hair.
I hate you, Kim Smith. I hate you for being so damn good.