don't dip your quill in the company ink...

So far, many of my fellow cunters have written of love being a cunt because that one person that doesn't send you running for the hills is incredibely hard to find. This is a sentiment I agree with wholeheartedly, however I believe love to be a cunt with added sting; For what happens when you find someone you think may have the potential to keep you warm at night without scarying the shite out of you in the morning, but turns out they're just not right?

I recently made the mistake of sleeping with someone I work with. I got on with this girl at a personal level, she occasionally seemed intelligent, funny and caring... plus she was marginally more attractive than the palm of my hand, so what the fuck I might as well, right?

Wrong! We saw each other 3 times, and slept together a grand total of once before I gave in to the nagging feeling that it just wasn't right... Now, apparently in her culture this is promise of marriage, children and floral curtains. For she does not want to let go. For a couple of weeks after we had the "I'm too busy for a relationship at the moment" chat, she emailled and texted me at least 4 times a day. At first I felt genuine guilt, progressing into mild annoyance and eventually fading to futile despair.

This e-stalking progressed to actual horror film script with her turning up at my local, and questioning my friends (and anyone I so much as made eye contact with). Eventually she cornered me, by the bar, in public, and lost the plot...
"I don't want to lose you" (you already have!), "we could have been special" (you appear to be just that...), "it's such a waste" (no, not really), "it was the best sex I've ever had" (say that just a little bit louder, this barmaid's really fit).

So, how do I get the texts and emails to stop (still coming, 4/5 weeks after sending the bunny boiler to dumpsville... apparently it's important for me to know she didn't cheat on me)?

That is without saying "Listen, it was a mistake... I spent the night trying to work out how to project a movie onto your drive-in sized forehead. I thought you were intriguing before, now I think you're a little retarded and the only intriguing thing about you is how you managed to stuff enough cake into that tiny little mouth to expand your arse to those proportions... leave me alone you Glen Close imitating bitch"... because love is a cunt, but I'm not... much.